A delicious dawn, the coffins are all floating on the dangerous lake, they're like strange dilapidated ships in the dark, it's cruel that some of them are tiny, rocking ever so slowly with the gentle syrupy malaise and melancholy of somber waves in a bowl of midnight blue water, bathing cedar and pinewood, a meadowlark on a glistening and golden moon-lit rock, the saddest time to drown.