Comatose I: View From the Seashore

They say the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world
the rusty keys unlock my mind to let the child go.
He took the old path to the windmill
towards the seashore
to cast his net for the big fish in the big wide sea
Where is the boy who used to write is name in the sand
Where is the boy who used to smile and wave to all the passing strangers
The only call to say hello, the golden sands
their precious words
the clear blues skies become the dark skies
Lightspeed and wasted in new york city
wracked up with nerves and skizophrenia
stacked up on ritalin and is grotesque anesthesia