A young man heading south, slipping off his mom’s arms

Doesn’t know what to do

He can see the world in her eyes, the smell of the rain as it pours

It is the smell of a  hang man’s noose

The living dead that he heard of when young

It is now becoming true

Home sweet home, why do you seem miles away

I want to sit by the roses, and smell the cups of tea

Why do you seem to drift away every time I come near

I want to talk to you about what is happening to me

I want to feel your breeze again on me

Here there is only fear and loneliness, there is no more

But you in me, all the whispers and shouts, the memories and denies

I know you can hear me can come and set me free

It is taking so long, minutes tick away like forever

No sign for a hope yet, I could barely convince myself that I can still breath

My mum says if you fear something, keep saying it

Well mum that drop of water made a hole in the stone, because I am breathing they count me alive, the water now is getting dry and the hole is made in my soul,

 it  could now cut me through.

The living dead that I heard of when young

It is now becoming true

( bring them back to their families please)