Rain Follows

This striped bass spoils from its head downward;

down where the brook runs deep with water that's smooth like a silver tongue.

Unlike a garden in bloom, we will never return back to the source that follows us until it sees something it needs and takes it back.

Thousands of breaths, they make unclean getaways.

What was my fault's now yours, and they'll turn to desperate acts to stay.

Now, pay attention.

They'll turn their backs if it benefits them.

As sons of the soil, there was no stopping what followed the plow.