The Sun

The sun is the man who wails over naked death
And cries cold tears onto the grey stone skin of the hills
The hills reaching to the sky to touch
Touch the sun that they might hold
Pull it down, consume and swallow the light

The sun is the man who bleeds into the ocean's arms
And turns the waves to salt
Curling and crested with crimson foam
The waves reach out to the sky to hold
Hold the sun that they might hold
Pull it down, subsume and drown the light