I remember the white cotton,
Soft and pure, kind and innocent,
Wandering on the azure bubble.

Tender touches from a summer breeze,
Painful grasps from a winter storm,
You melted like streams, rolled like flames.

White angels on high,
From when did you see through our truths and lies?
From when did you set off your empathy?
From when did you care about our joys and sorrows?
From when did you don your dusty cape?

Since then, you have been dark and heavy,
Too weary to journey on.
Lay down your burden, madam,
You would be free again.

So you cried,
You cried with all your might.
While people hid from you.

So you shouted,
You shouted for their attention.
While people covered their ears.

Should I share with you a cup of tears,
Might you be young again?
Should they bring you faces of cheer,
Might they relieve your pain?

At last, you fell from the wall,
The streets became your grave.
Yet the crowd danced upon it,
Lauded your death.

I would mourn that soft and pure cotton, the kind and innocent you.