On top, looking down the world seems so small. It found what was lost. In front of the eye the tears that fog the lens peers blurry. Too fast, for eyes to move with waves that crash on uneven rock. Sprouting leers at a forgotten past, as dreams collide of pillows caress, downing noise sitting with silence. In awe fore sight be sound afar. A thimble afloat feats by flights path. Traught xyla terah down left behind, yet aswirl in chaos, atlas the world has noise. When why the worth of price appear so near?