Awaken me, For my pain, The burning Is becoming forgotten. I hold upon the face of a clock, With my left hand in the grasp of a minute, As my right hand is in the grasp of a second. Was I too early, Or was I too late To take you? All that I kiss, is the salty air Of one lonely ocean. All I feel, is something that etches words upon my back Beneath the dark velvet sky, Being words made of stone. All I see, are those boughs above my head That do not move, Save for when they groan, Save for when the cradle swings, As I am the child beneath, Who has fallen without his home.