So go to the mountaintop

  At three

  And stretch out your hand

  For thee

  There within lies the flesh of Mother

  The soul that traps your heart there too remains

  Nothing left unscathed

  Nothing left to match

  You know what they say,

  Mother Dearest

  Won't you come home

  To my solace no more?

  Fifty, Fifty lest you be so stingy

  Holler for a change

  Try and don't be so clifty

  If you do, they'll only singe your name to change

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  Rearrange, rearrange, don't let them holler at your derange

  Holler to make way

  Don't leave the poor for counterchange

  Don't hit the hay lest you find Hemingway

  The Perrier the passion play so the passageway

  Run round like little stumps

  Don't let the atmosphere cloud your airway

  Munching you down the Earth with little chumps bolstered by your little bumps

  Make way, the king to come

  Rest aside, he will never succumb

  NONSENSEAll of it

  Ultimately, you will not mourn with them

  You will weep your death with them

  Those tears you leave down the fabric will not run to give them your heartache.

  You will see your demise and you will witness your end without the world.

  Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

  You are not left behind the leading sheep.

  Follow your light through.

  The rumbles you leave behind with your scattered thoughts will not leave to form stars. Leave your scars behind and run with the light that calls you.