His face is young His hands are old The past is empty Blind and cold All the sweat On his back Grabs the dirt It stains his shirt Push all day He rests at night Do some hobbies Drink to forget A ton of sand at my feet Each a speck in a space All collecting in a mass Pressure changing its shape Its direction, its purpose As the sea tears it away from the land More is pushed back Each different Each separate All has changed and nothing has changed When the momentum stops, the machine will die For some reason we're not alone