Feeling like saints at the gates,
We manage the flood running in,
Rushing hard with the hopes contained
By construction cones and yellow rope.
And once through the door,
They head towards the roof
With mind out the window,
Only breathing when the wind blows
All their dreams teeming with sin.
And the waves come crashing in
Through the masses, through the stars...
This time I will wake up and head out to the car.
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