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Three years ago in Éire was the last time I was free,
I used to own a boat there, and roam an Emerald sea,
by the herald of a sunset that made all the shadows flee,
shadows older than the sunset, as old as the black oak tree;
"it's not until the body dies, the soul is bid go free",
the shadows cast by lonliness seemed to whisper, quietly,
the theft of time is sought there, a consensual burglary,
and the moonlight on the darkling water, glistened solemnly,
as the waves lapped round my ankles on the shore of the emerald sea;

Now nothing in this shallow world means anything to me,
Back again on dry land now, bound by lock and key,
left rotting in this dungeon - lost - as though by royal decree,
into those gleaming waters cast, were both the lock and key,
- the shadows cast by lonliness rise up and swallow me -
the theft of time is fought for here, a cruel irony,
where time takes forever and forever, or so it seems to me,
deep hidden in the forest of the past, for at least an eternity,
bound in idleness and darkness - even as the old oak tree.

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