I wish I could dig up your grave And hold you in my arms. And listen to the crickets’ lullabies, And count the fallen stars. I’d like your voice to break the silence Tearing the spider lace. The butterflies regain their wings Once burnt in the sunsets’ flames. I wander through white hollyhock and yarrow. August is sick and lame. It broke my soul like the bones of sparrow. The moon can’t look at me without pain. I wish you could sleep in your grave Like a seed for the time being. Draw strength for life in mourning rain. When comes awakening day. I wish I could fill your lungs With my own breath. Or catch the wind that runs Over the hills stirring the grass. But I’m too weak, I’m numb in my grief. I’m numb in my grief. I’m too weak.
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