Reading the same lines over and over.
Repeating movements of the eyes.
The same horizon endless as the sky.
Repeating movements of the eyes.

As I blow in my own sails.
I know another attempt has failed to reach the solid shore and leave the sinking ship behind.

Do I really hate the farewell.
When it's me who has brought the petrol.
Petrol for a burning ship.

I've cut the wood to build the ship, and carved the match to light it