There were children that hung from the lamb trees that bloomed in autumn.
Their leaves sprinkled the cake walk for many.
When they fall beneath the tree,
Only the shadows can pick up the light.
If the shadows fail to pick it up,
The wind will carry the deep and broken amongst their sleep.
How cool the air can carry a silent cry and only the shallow seek the depth of worthless mourning.
This world should cry a lot.
It would contribute to the abyss of sins and soon,
It will create a bottom.