Late last night at rest with my mate I'm visited by a victim of hate A spectoral group, yet they're one and the same They would never live Nor would they have a name A baby too young to walk or to talk Rocked to sleep with a big, heavy rock Becomes a tot with a baleful glare Sucked from life by a shortage of air
A child beyond time without gender Metamorphing to surrender Each shape for one older and still No end to how each could be killed
By chance in the polyverse i'm all of these Each to fall prey with unnerving ease To who knows which ambiguous marasmus It asked at once knowing And unknowing the answers
To things far removed from my experience Or need to know and thus it thanked me For sparing it death's multiplicitous masques And life's thankless laborious tasks
January, child born alas February, still still frail as glass March through a formative period you must April child, in god, distrusts May comes and goes and shortlived is the hope June is the halfway mark of your rope July child fears end of time August child in slow decline September, sense starts to fail October's child, the burden ails November's child malingers on December's child is dead and goneTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
