Grand mother


There is a river that runs through Mosoger

Where her gentle soul laid

Oh grandmother!

Life’s journey paid.
That being child

Talking with the witches and the river

Canabis and the old man

Broken mind.
Have you heard the talk?

Witches whispered

He is a being boy

The strange one.
Mothers sorrow

Painful passion

Demented lover

Angered possession
We are the rodder in Our lives

Our part clearly printed

All men heart are finally dust

We must give away to get
There is no intermediaries

The soul always searches

We are in a voyage

A search that must end
When it ends it begins

Our journey goes beyond this shores

Men dies

The souls fate is not reviewed
The institutions may guru

Grant and tarnish

Our part our determination

Our merits our choice
But for the one with Philos touch

I will leave this bodies vouch

Mothers sorrow ; brothers love

I must stay longer.
Our lives is not ours alone

A tie at home

An obligation to keep

A token to grant.

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