Become singers

To let go of the old, of fear, and sing out

You and me were born beneath grey skies;
where snakes want to crawl into our beds
Where honey bittersweet stick to our fingers
and make them stuck to dusty spiderwebs

Your lips tremble, afraid of taking breaths,
to disturb the ghosts that here still lingers
But my eyes are rolling, screening, searching,
for our wounded souls that still hides

Take my hand, I found us two red threads
Follow me out, and away from hidden cries;
I think it is time that we become singers