The Moistest Beak

A whole lot of unchanging

Will come sliding down the rails

Returning into station and declaring itself

Unfazed by outside of influence

It powered its way through

The same busted machine

As if that were good news

A circle of protection

I am drawing out the plans

Growing by intuition

And the power of my hands

I'm dreaming of a future

That does not mine the past

Retelling ancient stories

As if they were the last

No hand in intervention

Will come swinging from the sky

Everything that will happen

We are seeding in our lives

And pulled from all directions

We'll be tied into a braid

That cannot be undone