Rough hands used to hold my own,
And still the small bird sings,
They shared my bed and shared my home,
The golden bird death brings,

The shadows seemed so far away ,
Attached to moonlight skin,
Who’d bring it back to where he stay,
And choke the song within,

A golden ray of light there lies,
Within a dreary hell,
Among translucent smog it dies,
A death toll time will tell,

The siren sobs its mournful cry,
Where gentle hands won’t tread,
I pray the little bird may fly,
I unravel like a thread,

I trip and fall a dozen times,
I sob a sirens mournful wail,
A feeling not expressed in rhymes,
I know m mind it will not fail,

A little bird within a cage,
The golden light it now does fade,
Fall to my knees so false is rage,
The bird like me a shade.

I whip myself towards them,
The shadows fall around,
******* forsaken graveyard town,
I scream without a sound.
    
Through blackened dust he does emerge,
Eyes wide shut like broken glass,
My mind and heart within me serge,
I turn to lips where rhyme would pass.

And at my feet lies a broken rose,
Not long without its stem,
Once in sweet compose,
Now in black condemn.

My head upon his coal filled chest,
Feels like my hearts undone,
The lullaby has paused to rest,
And now his song is sung.