I visit you, I cannot help it,
twist my fingers through the bars.
I have tried to think you out of it.
I’ve dragged the lake, the foam salt circumference from the tears of men.
All the fathers I have ever had,
content to make their bed in blue,
sick in spite of heaven, the fever bloomed, He the spirit in a dark room.
He will say it every time with pride:
“Life is a lack, already full of my filled page, the body a map which crusts in age. Do not follow me.” You lie.
I grew fierce at your divide, the rainbow is defiant in splendor!
The spirit speaks again:
“I will fade, I belong no where but with the man inside a cage.” I lie.
For fathers taught me how to empathize with the emptiness, so I became to save his life, a little ego exorcist can ride the devil out alive.