21 mars 2004

THE little yellow-head lies upon a wooden bed –
No fear left in a person that is dead
And thou should not feel guilty for the death of a forsaken
– nor be crying for a dead that cannot be awaken
And this he told me through his angel of old day
And I know that I am not to be mistaken
The truth is that I fear to be mistaken
When I am dead – ‘tis my way – I am not to be awaken

So thy life hath never felt no dead
Art thou no afraid to be forsaken?
In thy heart thou art afraid to be mistaken
Hath no fear stayed in this day
May I ask thou, May?

Early I woke up – in the month of may
And I looked forth to the end and next the second day
I could never guess that a life was of the way
As I woke up this early in the month of may
And I could not guess that I was mistaken
– Nor know that I was taken – by the one forsaken
There lies a pain in not being awaken
And art thou sure about not being dead?
Do not bother the yellow-head that lies dead on the wooden bed

And pain is no familiar for dead
Art death no good may I take thy head?
And pain is not to be familiar for one that is un-dead
– Nor blood that painfully drops down on bed
Thy bed that is the home of my way
And one thing may I ask thee May?
Art thou not frightened by one of the forsaken
– Nor afraid about thou might no more awaken?
And if thou really do not fear us un-dead
What can thou offer to one the un-fed?


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