. .- .-. - .... . -. 
.-. . -- --- .-. ... .


There is no way to close my senses 
to these things I'm meant to see.  
Everything in the universe 
is tapping out its morse to me.

The melted sky is hailing down 
its woes upon mankind.  
Its angry billows mist their way 
into the ozone of my mind.

The moon set waters into motion 
when I ignored her as she cried.  
Volume waned as she stirred the ocean; 
she bellowed low and turned the tide.  
A daily ebb of raw emotion, 
she's never truly satisfied.

My body screams for some silence.  
I could kill for a little peace.  
But this raw earth is pure defiance, 
and her appeals only increase.

Zephyrs lament in the sibilant wind 
of who they've lost and how they've sinned.  
The trees shake with repentance,
from limb to limb they shudder.  
There is no respite from their confession,
no shade from what they utter.

I plead with them to stop their noises.  
Their constant cries drive me to violence,
but they don't stop to hear me calling 
through their integer of silence.

Fire wags his viscous head; 
spreads fingers burning in their shame.  
Consumed by guilt for what he's said,
condemned by his own tongue of flame. 

They have me howling for some quiet,
hunting for tranquility.  
But everything in the universe 
Keeps pounding out its morse to me.

.... --- -- .