Fetal position.
He curls up in his room.
He watches the shadows.
As they take bloom.
Taps on the window.
The old oak tree.
Brandished a widow...
Old nectar doth bleed.
Downstairs came laughter...
Or was it tears?
He clings, thoughts of his mother...
As he crept down the stairs.
Holy as hell is...
As compasionate as stone
He'll always come visit...
When the boy is alone.