A form of blindness drove me here, into your arms, in a reckless moment. A kind of pity kept me here past my days, as kind as chains on a slave. Would it come as a shock, to find your bird has flown, having rediscovered flight in the grip of the noose? You're singing in the dark: a tether to your door. A second of remorse, as innocence creeps in. A shout in vain. The bastard's mother, you took nothing in. There's deception at the heart of you, cold heart, unbereaved. Blood on the ground beneath you, leaking down your legs to poison the bare earth, wherever you go. I'm never far behind. An unwilling father, you're everything I asked. You gave to me the flesh for life. Moving and breathing, the red flower in my veins; completely dead beneath the surface - flat eyes, hollow chest. You're raging at the dawn, a voice to crack the sky. Wherever I might go, you drag me by the neck. Did it come as a shock, when the collar, that fit so tight it would never come undone, was a means of escape, finally? I've left you far behind. In a secret life, we never met, and I had joy more than anything I've known. There's a secret home, down a thousand steps. Its door will open once, and shut me in alone.
