Little boy, weeping over your mother,
How pathetic that you disregard nature
And try and hold her as she goes on!
How sad for you that any articulation
Is met the hatred of a reflection
That shows itself once the beginning ends!
And nothing comes close…
The sky is painted by the shadows you chose,
The torture of only winning as you lose!
But, little boy, you know as well as I do
That you’re the joy of a mother who grew
To face herself as something new.
You weep because you can never exist,
Only as the son you see this, before it’s all missed
And the revival of humanity begins again, a breath between the mist.
And nothing comes close…
The sky is painted by shadows you choose,
The freedom of winning as you lose!