When we are gone, who will keep up the garden?
Like a mother calling her boy, I am, I am so unsafe
But she can’t do it alone
But there’s nothing stronger than her prayers
Nothing stronger than the smell of reds
My father’s reds…
The run is a false pretence thrill, and vigilant shadows chased back
Got a rotting dog’s canines stuck deep between both cramping calves
Still, their furious barks resonated from every corner of the forest gloom
Attempting to escape from a burning house, and evening came too soon
The chase was always in circles, between a mangy maw and a mangled tail
Open wounds stung from the vicious sweat, the salt will nourish only for a day
Still, rabid growls swallowed back the purple tongue which licked at the venom
The fire had long been snuffed, yet disobedient paws still prayed to be the victim.
Everyone cares, every eye
Carelessly tiptoes around you
Watching you, they’ll wear black ties
And as they applaud, I’ll count claps
Like the fig tree the master cursed
The arms that gave us life take so much more.