We are but tiny sun men
We see light as dark
Over the hills are golden days
White at night and rounded caves
Under our skin there must be more
Nobody knows, for we are just men.
What lies there but ourselves, that which is of the sun?
All say that
Love must be put to bed
Yet we ask of our women:
What are we and what is beneath our skin
How did you let the light in
When will man rust?
Some told their small lies
All to suit a sad tongue
“For there is gold underneath,
Yet the rust is scared of man
Their shadow always about and messy
Inside of man is neat truth, hidden”
but we sun men only heard there is gold beneath
So we slaughtered the lot of them
And realized where rust grows
In the toil of used blood where the sun once shined
In darkness there is light
Exposed, only dark.
We are sun men, and no longer do we ask such questions.