mytake
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Warm hands drip with crimison sorrows.
These are not hands of murders
But protectors
Of land they had rightfully earned
To live with, not on.
From which to borrow, not take.
Moving and moving on a fast paced highway
my parents chattering in native tongue
And I am in the seats subsequent, reliant on both for a future but
this I could not have known
You're blind but you see ever so clearly,
you're ill but in ways you're perfectly fine.
You're deaf, but you hear so close, so nearly.
You're warm but send me shivers down my spine.
Amber skies warn of a coming
Tribal drums sound with a drumming
The fox has finally won with a cunning
