I believe this is the road, 

I believe this is the road to catch the Atlantic. 

You see, you just can’t go there and whisper in the eyes of this prodigous symphony. 

There’s always the parts, the shimmering and glimmering molecules, 

that you have to give away. 

The annihilation of your fathers, the navigation through the foggy nights and your selfless, cliched cigarettes. 

Sometimes you need to crawl some nights alone, sometimes you need to dance with the surf alone to introspect the circus of any companionship. 

The sailors, the misfits, the industrial fuckers, growling through the ocean and keeping those hallelujahs on the deck, 

there’s rum on my tummy…

but you see here in this one among infinite lighthouses I am trying to get drunk and get laid and get a poetry done, 

I am in my aspiring island of misfits.