It's early rise - His teeth are firm - And cleanse with hands to hunt and hold - The sun divides imagined leaves - A shelter while I sleep - There are many years to cloud my mind - But no burden that's heavy like a tipping load - Early days on a blooded patch - Only rock and brick surround - Tradition sinks in the soil here - As a rock swallowed in the mud - The polluted skin of my blooded earth - Keeps the bleeding at bay - This syrup sweet and thick to exchange me - My spirit has rearranged - Crippled, dampened, lame - As it goes syrup fills my eyes - The days faces fade to black - I don't feel - That I can fight for my home anymore - I return to an open land - Where blood's blanket shielded me....
