The wind

Feeling smokeless on the horizon
the hungry oldman, seeks bread with butter
the sailor is catching waves, not fish...
the sails are running at the wind
People chant and dream over a bottle of lost whisky
Rhum's being spoiled, bread's on the floor, running to the little children eyes...
the women search for fish..
they cook them and serve them at dinner, like a lost lobster..
pins and needles on their hands..
journals on their hair...
they clothe and bathe the youngsters aswell as the pets...
running amok the rats are abandoning the ship...
towards wire, they run scattered, with red on their eyes..
while the lost horse, is at the port with a broken leg...
the dove is spreading its wings...
The water's moving, the boat is in the water...
passing through an empty bottle on the ocean...
they see lost echoes inside, they jump at the sea and they catch the little ink inside...
Putting the nets on the water, they return home...
when everything's said and done, they go to sleep...
finding solace in their dreams...
tomorrow is another day, a guy screams...
and then they start it all over again...