My mother taught me how to make songs out of grief,
She had to bury herself deep within her soul
To show me how lyrics are drawn out of pains.

I've had to use the same method for years
& weaved sweet verses to the ears of bereaved men.

A girl holds my lips & swallows the songs in my mouth,
I let the sun in my eyes hold shadows of smile,
That she may unclothe herself of depression & things likened to tears.

My mother taught me how to make songs out of grief,
Out of things that make the heart grows hard & cold.

I've had to learn the secret of turning tears to pearls,
That my darkened face may be transitioned into beams
Even when my body becomes a relic of scars & loss.

Forums: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.