I am an empty sleeve that remembers a hand, a lighthouse tuned to a shore that’s out of sight. I taste like almost and ache like a half-song, the patient thief that borrows what you do not yet own.

There's three of me: a pirate, a fabric, and a small friend's coat.

In nature and film my fierce type is shown, with a ferocious bite that tears through flesh and bone. Funny enough, the first part of my name Is something years ago, called ugly and lame.

It holds you up, and weigh you down, Its the reason you're not a puddle, or totally round. A hidden factory, plasma's it's child: supporting all your actions, be them lawful, or wild.

Sour and often times sweet, Sometimes, you'll find yourself in me. Other times, you'll take a bite, A tangy, tasty summer's delight.