Winging its lonely way
Onward toward the horizon.
Never a permanent denizen,
But ever soaring away.
The sea reaches to crush
This endless albatrossian flightpath,
But the bird eludes it's raging
And flies ever-onward in a rush.
So is this wayward soul,
This pilgrim of the skies.
To always leave, to ne'er realize
What lies on the earth below.
