Every man is not an island, but a world
With each one a single setting sun
That sweats and burns his skin
(An ocean hangs from hooks in the air)
One wager goes untested
with each breath I draw back in.
Lone wanderer. Author of my own steps.
Glimpsing at visions that only here consent to seem.
(Founding on ruins, culture twisted for our mirth)
Till I am called, crawl back into unwritten dream,
and a desert wind blows up the mark that I had ever been.