trying times

i tried so hard to make it to a place where i was sure i made myself a shell on the sand but the sea was insecure i washed the pain in the summer rain, but the clouds were moving north i turned the page on another age, but the people starved for more i went inland and wrote in the sand of the birth of the aeroplane i sang to the bush of the city confusion, tightening the pain i danced to some thumb-piano and drum, before i fell to faint i left the rhyme and the travel of time to the hungry and depressed the hunters hide and the sailors cry, for the game is emptiness for the seeking man doing what he can, for an hour in the dust of the wasted warm electric storm, your love held me in trust