The Tide has gone out.

We now live in houses that are make believe,
Made of black silk, spun by black caterpillars.
A tiger guards the door and we cannot leave,
Afraid that, our friends are all hapless killers.

The high tide is going out tonight,
Let it expose the malignant sand,
The place where sorrow is in sight,
And none of us can lend a hand.

We now eat cold meals alone in the dark,               
Our little world that was once golden is no more,
The once verdant forests will be bleak and stark,
And we are left wondering what it was all for.