Messes Of Men

I do not exist

We faithfully insist

Sailing in our separate ships

And from each tiny caravel

Tiring of trying

There's a necessary dying

Like the horseshoe crab

In its proper season sheds its shell

Such distance from our friends

Like a scratch across the lens

Made everything look wrong

From anywhere we stood

Our paper flew away

Before we'd left the bay

So half-blind we wrote these songs

On sheets of salty wood

Caught me making eyes

At the other boatmen's wives

And heard me laughing louder

At the jokes told by their daughters

I'd set my course for land

But you well understand

It takes a steady hand

To navigate adulterous waters

The propeller's spinning blades

Held acquaintance with the waves

As there's mistakes I've made

No rowing could outrun

The cloth low on the mast

Like to say I've got no past

But I'm nonetheless

The librarian and secretary's son

With tarnish on my brass

And mildew on my glass

I'd never want someone so crass

As to want someone like me

But a few leagues off the shore

I bit a flashing lure

And I assure you

It was not what I expected it to be

I still taste its kiss

That dull hook in my lip

Is a memory as useless

As a rod without a reel

To an anchor ever-dropped

Seasick yet still docked

Captain spotted napping

With his first mate at the wheel

Floating forgetfully along

With no need to be strong

We keep our confessions long

And when we pray we keep it short

I drank a thimble full of fire

And I'm not ever coming back

Oh, my God

I do not exist

We faithfully insist

While watching sink the heavy ship

Of everything we knew

And if ever you come near

I'll hold up high a mirror

Lord, I could never show you

Anything as beautiful as You