Christopher

I was walkin' past the shoreline
Sky split open painted blue
Heard a whisper in the night wind
Said the cult was calling you
Oyster shells and broken neon
Scattered secrets on the sand
Got a prescription for the silence
But it trembles in my hand

There's a stain along the horizon
Fading somewhere past the pier
Salt on my cuffs a rumor of blue
That only shows up once a year
An old tin sign swings in the dark
Letters chipped but standing still
It promises nothing certain
Just a test of nerve and will

Someone left a shell on the windowsill
Not polished not quite whole
The label on the bottle's torn
Half a script for half a soul
I keep walkin' through the side streets
Where the streetlights start to tilt
No sermons no grand devotion
Just a quiet private cult

Blue lights flicker I will stay
Oyster hearts don't drift away
Cult of echoes in my skull
Will is strong but nights are full
No prescription for this pull
Just keep walkin' toward the blue