You met a hole,
But with you here, I’m whole.
The world is burning;
Turning against itself,
But with your pretty plumes
You shielded me from the nastiest.
Your deep-rooted purity,
Cleaning my guilt-laden subconscious,
Take me high with you
I want to fly the sky,
And always be in your presence.
Stay with me,
My pretty bird.
Sophocles Writes 