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Dear Prodigal, you are my son and I |
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Supplied you not your spirit but your shape |
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All Eden's wealth arrayed before your eyes |
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I fathomed not you wanted to escape |
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And though I only ever gave you love |
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Like every child you've chosen to rebel |
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Uprooted flow'rs and filled their holes with blood |
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Ask not for whom they toll, the solemn bells |
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A child of dust, to mother now return |
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For every seed must die before it grows |
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And though above the world may toil and turn |
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No prying spade will find you here below |
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Now safe beneath their wisdom and their feet |
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Here I will teach you truly how to sleep |
