I am closer to immortal than you can imagine
When you lie down it defines beauty sleep
But, I am six feet over... I'm in heaven
And six feet under you're in heaven
A cure for a disease progressing

And no question of a harmonic progression
Even if my song is sung as a narration
The lullaby is my confession
Of loss and of pain...
The depression
For my son
Gone

Where I'm at there's little self-expression
My vocal chords are my only *****
But no one here is listening
Just you, to me
Singing to
My son

The exact structure of your skull was no accident
Synthesis is in my heart, as sound intents
Perfection of beats made in my chest
But as you are in the ground
With a skull so round
I sing down
To you

Painters get to blend more color, white or black
Keep mixing until pigment is exactly right
The tone of the dialogue is a fact
Enacting a meaning intact
On tight canvas skin

It is laughable the way sounds bounce around
That the sound reverberates in your skull
As we give energy to words announced
A frequency is altered by meanings
Dependant on tone or sound
  
I cannot count out the lullabies composed
I can only remember the feelings
Energy left by words we chose
And since you'll never return
I choose to come to you,
Oh, what I'd do for,
Just an ounce,
of your love
At home