Crippled boy

In the warm night,
when you want to sleep,
a lost sounds,
in your head,
you will hear.
Music of the Old,
will hunt your taughts,
and screams of days,
forgotten long ago,
will eat your bones.
Locked under your skin,
in hesitation to move,
body will fall.
Unable of traveling,
to the world ,
of dreams and souls.

In the warm night,
when you are afraid,
a sharp voice,
his hands on your ears,
will lay.
Skillful fingers,
of a crippled boy,
will tore your heart,
with every note.
Emotions,
hidden far away,
like a raptor’s claws,
your past,
will start to slay.

In the warm night,
when you think,
yourself a brave,
a desire for sorrow,
again will come,
for a long,to stay.
Tears of freedom,
will fill your eyes,
a ocean of emptiness,
full with scars,
and you alone,
unable to cry.

In the warm night,
when everything is swolloved,
by the darkest murk,
you will sense,
an image,
that until dawn,
your head will lurk.
In your mind’s eye,
a strange boy,
will appear.
In the heart,
of an ancient jungle,
on a warded stone,
he is sitting,
madly,still.

In the cold days,
he is just a boy.
In the warm nights,
he has his magic toy.
Long lute,
from the devil’s wood,
warded with a blood,
and magic tones.
To control his raptors,
to control their jaws,
to move their body,
to move their bones.

In the warm night,
when you can hear the earth,
there is a cripple boy,
from an ancient jungle,
standing there,
in the circle of blood,
of his past fears.
He is playing,
boldly music,
for you,
with the notes asking,
will you hunt and kill,
your fears too?

El Morya

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