Tears On the Cradle
Fox glove tangos with the evening winds
My little Nicole had grown
What cradle doth she now lay without fatherly kiss?
How is my fairest one now turned a mist that hast flown?
It grieves to sing lullabies to her doll
The muse grants me expressions in vain
Doth heaven sparkle without family on its Beulah soil?
Surely my moppet shall cloud heaven's skies with dark pain.
Books of fairytales, rocking chair, pink unicorn
Touch I with so feeble fingers that could not keep sleep away
Cosy cradle, music box, cardboard painting of me with crayon
Flays every joyous reason on this plain to abide a day.
I shall pluck my strings as I tell the stars
How beautiful they shine to guide memories to my head
The chiming clock shall number my deepest scars
With melodies that draws the weary pilgrim's feet to the end.
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