Neither do I hear I see no more
It has been a year I left the shore
In these strange waters creatures of yore
Here nothing matters as I explore
My tongue is a twister I kneel before
Pure silence or a careless whisper
Night and day turn into month-minutes
And the vast world outside becomes less than minute
From the Americas to great Antartica
I am the sole sailor of my subnautica
I travel through the cold seas of forgotten streams
Sad and salty prayers that each passing year breams
A thousand one layers gilded on an altar
Yet just as moss or mold its footing may falter.
Is the man made bigger by the journey, or is the journey made bigger by the man?