Too often, the white sand settles halfway,slowly spinning in small spiral of dust,almost still, but this almost will betray. Like an hourglass sands swirl every way, the sand leaving rings of rotten red rust.Too often, the white sand settles halfway. Slow sands drift, perpetuated all day, still spinning and swirling, just like it must,almost still, but this almost will betray The blinding, foggy clouds are there to stay,so that one is forced to see light through trust.Too often, the white sand settles halfway. Cold sand is always demanding its pay,carving the world with a cutting wind gust,almost still, but this almost will betray Sometimes the white sand comes wanting to play,but is always unfair, always unjust.Too often the white sand settle halfway,almost still, but this almost will betray