Estuans Interius

Constantly there watching me,
Watching for my mistakes.
Glances at another's grace,
In him there are no such mistakes.

She looked at me this way before,
But before she was not dying.
Now her eyes are slowly closing,
And it is I who finds myself dying.

A great stone of bitter depth,
A depth that stabs through my own.
What other way is there to save
This country that I call my own?

I could not be there to see his wounds,
His wounds that proved so redeeming.
The Great Horn rests now in Silent Street,
Will this place now be my redeeming?

I let him go unthanked and unloved,
I who was unloved lost all sympathy.
There is no hope for us now, my son,
I beg that you can spare for me some sympathy.

Burning inside for so long,
Burning for a better place.
Burning together in the hope
Of a final resting, away from this.
Burning.