The worst has passed
With the snow to a bleak yesterday.
And I see her tresses rain from a frail head,
To that path behind me,
To a path, where I see,
All my cruelest enemies,
Little voices of laughter, from spiteful children,
People who beg, and people who spit,
People who destroy what worlds they ever had.
Why would they want this?
Why would they want a Hellish torment, called love?
The child in me, begins to beg.
And towards the future, I move to another pair of arms,
A woman, with me, is all there is to now see.