Strictly Poetry, where I was before the music. (only really rusty now).

talking with the tide
the ebb and flow is my only memory
as the south shore pulls me in
sinking deeper into consciousness
I stare at the red moon

I can not extricate you from this feeling
and I crunch a shell with my feet to alleviate
and ring out the water from my dress

sedate the feeling to pitch my self in
over my head
and under the waves
by letting my fingers touch my wet skin

The water is already on me
the sand already beneath me
the moon looks all too knowingly at me
tonight with its red face

twisting my feet and knotting my dress
toasted lager running down my chest as I laugh
and hum a song to forget
why standing here made me feel this way
when I have never stood here before
but I was
lead astray
to the shore