We ache, we bleed, we drown, we cease to be. I sail the oceans of memories once mapped. Recount the days to salt the loss and regret. If no man's an island then I am lost at sea, without an anchor and you without me. We burned our sails in the soft light of our last night here.
What might a band like Indian Summer or Native Nod sound like if they were thrashing around a 21st century basement? It could be something like this. Luke