When silence is deafening, heat
turned to bitter fruit,
if all that remains binds fear in the unknown
left to fade in the cold, what is sacred,
as hands reach to grasp hearts
in fits and starts of rejection
no tome of home life lifted
and I am here all alone?
if all that remains binds fear in the unknown
left to fade in the cold, what is sacred,
as hands reach to grasp hearts
in fits and starts of rejection
no tome of home life lifted
and I am here all alone?
