mending slowly, all wounds, and prickled knees. this is the burden of a sunken child. a look to heaven, to see again. hes buried. completes the stone heart of an angry son, an angry son whos done his swallowing, his memories are bitten pills, so many bitten pills that hes collected, and all he has is broken ground. he now moves on. this grounds so unsettled, so endlessly unsettled. pills counting on the way to the sundown but still he moves on this is earth, for she has moved on and collected, settled to his own liking, and still he moves on. a voice in the back of his head reminding him that this is stolen, that this is not his all these moments, all these precious time spent moments in gravity all this anxious waiting, all this time spent waiting. all this pain that you know, all this time spent moving, all this pain that you will ever know. though he is living, silently in moments, and forgiving relevance... it is in his heart he is holding and crawling behind sadness of empty fields. it is in these moments of time well spent...in these moments of gravity, this time well spent, a look to heaven, sighing tears of angel's in the night sky... racing, racing, yelling softly, "this is the moment, this is the moment" a look to heaven, sighing tears of angel's in the night sky, this is the moment. holding moments and forgiving relevance...it is in his heart he is holding and calling behind sadness of empty fields. all these moments of time, time well spent. behind tired eyes, behind tired eyes, he is waiting. and knowing our destinies. we call him the angry son.