Testo Death

As your loved ones they placeHeavy stones on your faceYour sonnets of lifeThey are filling the caseHigh windows inside meLook down on your face.Changing white fingersFor men in the sandBurning bright spearsThat you hold in your handGrey children you've spawnedThey just won't understandAs the slow pulse of sobbingDries-from the skyMy grief in red circlesSurrounding an eyeGrey child stands lookingAnd passes on by.