|
My son, my son,
What have you done,
Your soul's a yellow
Pale.
My son, my son,
To Him, please run,
He hears your
Mournful wail.
My son, my son,
He will not shun,
You must, His gifts,
Address.
My son, my son,
You've just begun,
It's yours to
Answer, yes.
|
My son, my son,
For you have won,
An artist's talents,
Bold.
Accept both ones,
Your vocations,
Art-cassocked,
Be black-gold!
JMJ
Long-Skirts
5/30/04
|
