Foster 1460

A passenger for the first two years of my life aboard, one fifth of my time on this hollow earth Father if you hear me find a shore I need to know Will we breach the surface or is this tide our home Somewhere an apples falling Unaware of self or its former tree Somewhere an orchards drowning fertile and hungry blessed by the sea I'm not my father's son I'd rather be drifting in the open sea We need a miracle to save us soon or keep us all afloat I welcome the triennial and its oversight Losing crew to the ones in the water They're patiently singing their song "You're almost home, come overboard!" As if the waves weren't enough We're consumed and we're thrashed through the days we were fostered I'm not my father's son i'd rather be lost at the bottom of the sea If you take what I dreamt and made it true, we'd be 1 thousand leagues below If you take what I dreamt and made it true, he'd be 5 thousand leagues below