waking up in a lonely room
on a lonely second floor
the white morning without snow
running through the colorless stills
that child is mine
without a father who would stay
without a father who would say
love you, dear
love you with all of me
love you till the end of time
come away to my castle
and give me a child
that child is mine
with nothing but the colder morning
with too much air
slipping in through the spine and soles
that child is mine
the one without,
nothing at all.
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