Where they used to dream,
In their sleep, I hear my children cry.
A creaky head waiting to implode,
Nowhere to hide,
...
He sits there silently,
Patiently awaiting the verdict,
“Is he guilty? ”
“Did he do it? ”
...
The Children Sleep
Where they used to dream,
In their sleep, I hear my children cry.
A creaky head waiting to implode,
Nowhere to hide,
Nothing to rejoice.
For you who are dead,
Left us no goodbye.
No reason, no sense,
No hope, just Sorrow.