September sun blowing golden hairPeter's gone.
Now keep in mind son
She was never there
October's rust
Bisecting black storm clouds
Only the deaf hear my silent shouts
Yet in the dark, still he screams your name
Nights living death with witch rhymes insane
Ten years amassed, para toda mi vida?
Lost man in time, was his name Peter?
And I have a pain that stretches from the center of my back all the way up into my neck and under my hairline and the ranks close in tightly as the sun goes down. This is not fair. And it isn't right.
What a very long day.