He didn’t need a map
when the wind shifted.
Didn’t ask for a sign
when the stars wouldn’t speak.
Some days he was a question
and some days a kind of quiet grace.
All of it was enough.
Listen
Lyrics
A mast built from the bones of questions
carries him across a sea that isn’t water
but remembers how to move.
The wind tells him nothing he doesn’t already know—
that doubt is a wave
and grace is the calm
between the next two.
He charts his course on parchment
stitched from old letters,
each word an island
half-sunk but never gone.
He hums to the ropes
so they remember how to hold him,
and when the stars go missing
he listens for their breathing
in the hush of the horizon.
No land waits for him,
no harbor calls his name,
but there’s a compass in his chest
that knows how to lean
when the sky turns tender
and the mast stops shivering.
He trusts the quiet
to fill in the missing map,
and when the moon lifts its lantern
he leans into the dark,
unafraid
of the shape of the next wave.
About this song
A tender reckoning with the strangeness of existence, how we lose things and keep going.
Return to: The Almanac of Impossible Folk