A lost childhood, many forgotten dreams,
Haunts me everyday, tearing my seams,
A little boy, no older than ten,
In walls of despair and death his den.
So his ghost lives in my heart,
But your voice, revives him in part.
He craves freedom, to see the world\'s plays,
As he should\'ve, in the earlier days,
So he waits for you to come by,
Release him from his prison, bone dry,
And care for him, like his mother couldn\'t,
Show him the joys, and teach what his father wouldn\'t,
To love, to crave, to create and to feel,
To cry, to talk, to fix and to heal.
But you never come these days, busy with another,
And I never call these days, lonely in my corner,
They say I\'ve found a long lost love, from a long forgotten fate,
But it\'s really just a ghost, no longer a full plate.
Yet, the world turns, and the plants grow,
Not even a glance, at my deepest of sorrow.
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