Find me in Frisia

here the night is the mourned,
and the morning the mourner,
of those slain by the sun
I was born on the corner,
of nowhere and none,

Salt stains my hands
As I dig through ancestral lands
Ancient tides conquered by today's clay
They all wish to travel,
But forgive me if I stay,

To create a cairn,
From stones that don't stack,
I go as I learn,
To build my own little Babel,
With pebbles, that time painted black,

Feathered clouds are far behind
The unexpected old-school aeroplanes
And murmuring birds playing tag in the sky,
release me, back to breathing,
without barricades,

Peace is seeing a place you've been before a million times,
in the light of a new life,
So I don't have to wish upon a star
Because they never fall,
If you've never looked out as far,
How can you say you've seen it all?

Take a look through my maroon eyes,
Watch the earth and the air marry in a ring of horizons,
Where time doesn't stare,
and God hides behind every passerby,
But every time you look behind you, he's not there,
It's just the wind, the rain, the field, the grain,
and some Scottish white bizons,

But here the Gods might as well be mice,
Hiding on the windowsill,
Caught by a mother's first and final lullabies,
About a people, that's never known an empty eye,
or a single hill, besides the ones they built.