Life
Scott Pittinsky
Raise aching hands to weary skies
tired bones on suffered ground.
All of this I wish that I
didn't let wear me down
down, down, down, down, down.
Down.
Rest tortured bones in walls of pine.
A resting place for all of time.
But I don't want to leave behind
the sweetly fragrant mist of life
life, life, life, life, life.
Life.
Quiet spilling pale moon light
casts a cross upon your smile
as sleeping in my arms you lie
peaceful in your dreams tonight,
night, night, night, night, night.
Night.