Upstairs I'm hiding and filing away
Dead fishes in salt dipped fissures
Of deep digging fingers.

If I'm to find cure and reason
For such conniving treason you'll be the
First, to see these tear dunked pages.

Birthday girls and sliding men
On manmade hills leave me alone to tend
To a certain sadness.

For at the end of that special day
I can't find my friend, I can't find my friend.