Bowline

Adrift in the midst of the mists of existence with no helm to steer

A rift in the blissful abyss in the distance behold the realm of fear

The silence here drowns even the roaring of the tide

So all you hear are the echoes of the battles fought inside

The air so cool that sustained you that nourished you before

Begins to pool and turn so cold it chills you to the core

Fills you ever more

Chills you to the core

Your blood runs icy cold as death

And soon it claims your very breath

Your cries are nought but vapour now

And grow the mist rising all around

The lifeline onto which you grasp to keep you held in place

Now serves only as a clasp to tie you to your fate

Once a harness you could use to keep you on the deck

Now in darkness seems a noose that creeps up to your neck

Bowline

The ropes begin to swell

A towline that will drag you down to Hell

Will drag you down to Hell

No more lies you realise there is no going back

Eyes shut tight a brief respite from endless crushing black

Like spilt oil it soaks in with unshakable stains

Binds and coils ever tighter unbreakable as chains

Tied to the tide you are left at the mercy of the waves

Six feet fast becomes six fathoms as you sink to your grave