Now, my heart is paper,
fragile to malice,
discolored by coffee-stains,
smelling like worshipping smoke.
I swept the dust away on your grave today,
blinded by the dream finally ending.
As the earth is our home,
so are our threads of fate stained,
and thus I spoke of mulberry fields
turned to oceans.
I kneeled thrice in front of your grave.
Once, to mourn your fire that humanity lost.
Twice, to mourn the fire within me that I lost.
Thrice, to mourn the humanity that we've all lost.
And I exhale hurricanes yet again,
with sorrow in every step.
As I climb the mountain to see the horizon,
to watch as Nazareth burns.
