The Crying Child
What ails you, child? Why cry you wild? The journey is yet to begin; The world is crook and pain And outright insane; It hides in its ways, Mysterious days, Hurt, that has yet to find a name. It will a play a game That’s
What ails you, child? Why cry you wild? The journey is yet to begin; The world is crook and pain And outright insane; It hides in its ways, Mysterious days, Hurt, that has yet to find a name. It will a play a game That’s
We are the children of now, Written in impatience. We can’t wait for a day to come; That day might never come. Tomorrows will be todays someday, Let’s not waste another day And get it done right away. If you wish to save some, You can
Shrouded bodies, Crowded places, This isn’t the world I had dreamt of When I was a child in the head, I used to think a little more, And sleep a little less, Yet my dreams never failed To bring a future in my bed. Shiny
Remember, when I brought my vivid painting to you With hopeful eyes to see what you thought of it? I came to you to seek your genial nod at things I could make. Remember, how you laughed at my shoddy house, at a skewed face?
There isn’t a body around me. No one I could call mine. No one who could call me his. Seems everything is crouching away from me, cringing its claws into the hollows of self-absorption. I have seen people do that. Forget you! Like you never