Timid thoughts quietly approaching the stream, they fall in the water-coasting beautifully. Sliding down the gushing waters - carried to the bank. Stored with thoughts from day to death, fishermen cast lines - stealing memories; memories hoping to rest. Gorging on the captive nutrients; within the stolen happiness. Why must they take pleasant sights? Please, take away those awful nights. It's unchangeable, the bait won't tempt sorrow; all joy of yesterday will be fished tomorrow. Oh fishers, won't you leave this stream - won't you fish away from me? And when the fish have been lured, and the joyous memories devoured by man; all which remains are the memories suffocating on the sand.