"Do you need a paintbrush?"
As if that'll make everything better
"Is everything ok?"
Mommy's worried now; her heart set to flutter

Oh, the golden boy
A man
Talking with mommy
one would never know
She protects him so much
it's isolating
She thinks for him
the wheels in his head no longer oscillating
She'll continue to do it, though
Oh, you know
you know
Mama's golden boy
He has no harvest
no field of his own to sew