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If there’s a life you’ll mourn, one dearer than your own,
On a withered dawn, in the kitchen one morn,
Will come a tide of worth, the mother of all birth,
For you and I, a whisper so kind,
For you and I, a peace of mind.

Old, you’re not old, just familiar,
How you wash your hair,
How your skin feels bare in the morning glare.

So you gut me for all my woes, and left a scar on my shoulder,
For I am young but I am clothed, and what you want now I do not know,
Appease the hand that heals, oh mother let me feel,
For you and I, I won’t belie,
For you are mine, a thought, a mind.

Old, you’re not old, just familiar,
How you wash your hair,
How your skin feels bare.

You and I, dirty palmed, a head so calm,
We learn from all of you, how I itch, I yearn,
But oh so prevalent one say son, son,
Lower me so I will burn, burn, burn.

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