I'll keep on diving til I reach the ends, dredging up the past to drive me round the bends, what is it in me that I can't forget I keep finding so much that I now regret. But no, on I go down into the depths turning things over that are better left dredging up the past that has gone for good trying to polish up what is rotting wood. Something inside takes me down again diving not for goblets but tin cans dredging up the past for reasons so rife passing bits of wrecks that once passed for life. But I'll keep on diving till I drown the sea, of things not worth, even mentioning perhaps I'll come to the surface and come to my senses but it's a very deep sea around my own devices. Diving, diving.