Stuck on this island, the trouble just piling 
up and then rising above the horizon. 
Nothing surprising under the bright sun. 
Fuck with poseidon, get struck by the trident! 
Son of the titans. Thunder and lightning. 
The undeniably crummiest timing. 
A couple of hyphens-- 
I suck at describing my struggle in writing. 
I wonder if I might become reunited with dry land, 
or if anyone can even find me where I stand... 
You wouldn't happen to recognize this white sand 
by chance? 'Cause I can't! 
The return address: Desertedness. If this ever surfaces, 
pretty sure I guess you've never heard of this. 
Purposeless! Better start preparing for permanence, 
'cause of the limitations I observe myself working with. 
I wanna leave, but it dawns on me I'll probably rot on this beach. 
If I thought I'd see other people, I'd believe posthumously. 
Ardamus keeps working hard on this beat, 
but I'd find it less awkward if he'd bother talking to me. 
In shock, or just seething 'cause he thinks I caused this debacle? 
Lost in his thoughts while mine get tossed in this bottle? 
Contents long gone, God crossed off of the gospel. 
Just gotta process the awful like hot sauce up a nostril. 
Nature, a hostel as hostile as possible, 
fatally harsh and too far from a hospital. 
Lots of unsolvable problems and obstacles. 
Consciousness distorted as if through a Boss pedal. 
Give me the bronze medal in shit going wrong! 
The minute we've gone, I'll sing the victory song. 
Time ticking along. Trickery! Contradictory! Wrong! 
Shorter hours; seconds getting unpredictably long. 
Don't know what we should do, 
except accept we've stepped into a Kobayashi Maru. 
Colossally screwed across the great blue yonder. 
A quandary we don't have the philosophy to ponder, 
finding the long shot our hearts grew fonder-- 
Better yet, new harbor. Hardly. Too somber? 
Two goners, doomed to wander a handful of square feet, 
lucky if we last a mere week.

.5 Quartet [Vincent E.L., Ardamus] - Flaskpost

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