Salt scraped from eyes Where, oh where are you Born with brittle sight I think no less Pitted spirit Left to mourn Broken nye Cast the mold of myself To make anew without you But spark no more, glazed the mind Meek no more, the shadow of my mold Always lined with vile self...
Though we all carry a hope for respite I wishful plight Remembered night Anon the sight We look yonder Away whence we came To houses new and glades green Forgotten childish play, childish toys The magic dies With a sigh Our skin crinkles Our eyes narrow Our souls crumble The magic dies Then child...
