"Why am I so sad?" he'd say,
those warm wet tears freezing the clay
"I've tried so hard, yet gotten nowhere", he'd scream
When he was my signpost.

So concerned of being lost, that he dropped the map.
Without thinking, he ran, into the dark.
Those warm wet tears still freezing the clay.
Ruining my dream.

Not once did he stop, still trying to get out,
all he was able to do was moan and weep,
which only ever plunged him ever more deep.
Ruining my dream.

In my youth I never once stopped him,
never helping him find that muddy map,
so trampled upon by fear and doubt.
I'd just watch.

Now the tears are my own,
It's me running, my map dropped
My signpost broken, hanging.
No one is stopping me.

I don't know how greedy that makes me,
Or any human,
The fact that we cry over the dead because it's they
That no longer provide us our dreams.

We've only cared about ourselves, so stop them.
The running, rest their feet.
Wake up to give them their chance of a dream.
**Maybe then I'll sleep.