Sorg

Relieved we shall both become, pray
We bind our own chains.
Frightened of the supernatural
You mustn't be.
Great trials of my mother,
She sings a verse of weariness.
Blue lips, cheeks growing colder,
Broken fingers freezing.

He has caused great misery,
Heavy-hearted, his eyes are wet.
This has burdened many a man,
Weary and overwhelmed by sorrow.
A long flight they have begun, dead,
Passed on that they have.
Resulting of fear, of anger, crying from frustration,
Empty eyes are empty.