Sand

Let it be know I let sand fall through each crevice And when you watch it all fall You don't count the grains until about 10 left I count it like seconds As the texture slowly leaves my nerves like a girl you hate (love) Those with cancer, suicidal ideation and a beautiful wife Become aware of their fleeting beaches too late So they make snow angels in it Slowly sinking beneath instead of standing up And the sand awaits the next eager, quasi-benevolent boy It is a line to the beach, I check my ticket number "21"