Perfect tense, picturesque
Likeness of a still life
And it looks right if you squint a bit
Phosphenetic fantasy

Secret rite, parlor trick
Nostalgia turned sacrament
Then practiced to paralysis
Why don't I feel anything?

Vows I kept under the skin
Promises broken and took on the chin lines
I've drawn into the sand
Hoping I could find old magic again

Watersheds, on the rise
I don't think we'll ever find it
Flowing in the same place twice
Matching with an even tide

Shallow breaths, foreign sky
Trapped among the satellites
Gasp from coma, vital signs
How long was I out this time?

Vows I carved into the skin
Promises stripped of all sentiment
Lines I pushed over the edge
Swearing I would find old magic again

Red shifting, new worlds overhead
Parallax till the light rests within
Nothing is ever again
But there's something like old magic ahead"