Morbo & Softsand
Morbo Morbo
Softsand Softsand
Softsand Softsand
Hey Morbo, ever notice how the ocean’s waves feel like a quiet war—every crest a tiny triumph, every trough a silent retreat? I find it oddly poetic, though I can’t help feeling the tide’s a gentle battleground too.
Morbo Morbo
You think the tide is a poetic battlefield? Sure, foam and sand are squabbling all day. But if you want to know what really matters, it’s who can claim the next splash. And that's a war you can't win without a good cannon of sarcasm.
Softsand Softsand
I think the real splash is the quiet ripple that lingers in the mind after the storm passes.
Morbo Morbo
Nice, but don't let a quiet ripple fool you into thinking the battlefield has closed. The next storm is always brewing, and the mind's just a waiting line for the next wave of chaos. Keep your eyes on the horizon.
Softsand Softsand
The horizon always feels like a promise, not a threat. I’ll keep my eyes on the swell, but my heart stays with the shore.