Rockabye baby,
On the tree top,
When the wind blows,
Your tears will fall.
When the moon shines,
Your will screams will grow loud,
Reflect the metal knives,
No one will hear your sound.
Rockabye baby,
Bring your razor close,
Return to your safety,
Forget your foes.
Drop the razor down,
From the tree top,
Blood and pain will drown,
And win the battle you fought.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHIRAETH- (n.) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which never was. Previously: Songs Of My Lonely Soul. *** A Song Of My Lonely Soul. A Ballad Of My Heart Whole. A Story That Was Never Said. When We Find It To Be Dead. ...
