The voices are silent echoes. This is the hardest part.
The water's up to our ankles with no sign of letting up.
But I'm still climbing out.
I always meant to tell you that I never meant you harm in this
life.
I'll have to wait until the next to make things right.
I'm tapping s.o.s. codes on the wall, but this is as far as it
goes.
I'm writing my regret notes from the heart.
I never loved you, you know.
Because I'm riding a lie and I'm writing a lie.
I took a chance and we're paying for the lie.
I'm writing "I know the fault's all mine", but please stay
strong.
If they remember me, will they forget the meaning of why I came
so far to drown?
I'm forgetting it myself.
I find I'm staring at these rusty bolts this hatch was attached
to.
My eyes are glued. This coffin moves, angled down.
The skeletal walls are brittle. The salt corrodes it off.
Your spent oxygen fogs the metal. You're taking greedy breaths
from us but I forgive you all.
Trumpet Concerto in D - Reconstructed by Alan Boustead: 2. Adagio
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