chapter six – nothing

hands covered in seaweed, phosphorescent sea things,
you wash up ashore coughing, sputtering,
bubbling out your lungs. rungs
on the ladder you're trying to climb collapsed.

you've relapsed into your old ways
of having spent days nearly dying.
maybe tomorrow you'll be fying in the desert sun.
you realize you need shelter, a sword, a gun, a plan, maybe somewhere to run.

but in the back of your mind you feel like
this might've been mentioned to you once or twice by that old man.
you hardly knew him or his crazy plan,
but you signed on anyway so you could run from land.

what is this place, this mysterious island?
and why have you arrived in a fashion so violent?
what do you have left of life when the sea, with its strife,
tried to run you through with its coral knives?

you've done nothing.
you've won nothing,
become nothing.
you've seen nothing.
you've learned nothing.
you've saved nothing.
you've found nothing.
you've got nothing,
but that's something.

you went and got a clean slate,
and now you watch the sea as it starts to abate.
well here you are, far away, at the start of a day.
well maybe nothing is a pretty cool hand to play.

well maybe nothing is a pretty cool hand to play.
well listen to the muse now; listen what i say:
well maybe nothing is a pretty cool hand to play.
well maybe everything and nothing ain't so far away.


you've done nothing.
you've won nothing,
become nothing,
you've seen nothing.
you've learned nothing.
you've saved nothing.
you've found nothing.
you've got nothing,
but that's something.

you went and got a clean slate,
and now you watch the world as it starts to awake.
well here you are, all alone, at the start of a day.
well maybe nothing is a pretty cool hand to play.

well maybe nothing is a pretty cool hand to play.
well listen to the muse now; listen what i say:
well maybe nothing is a pretty cool hand to play.
well maybe everything and nothing ain't so far away.