Beautiful, I'll never leave your side.
Let me take you by the hand,
Wipe away the tears you cry.
The growing ocean shares so many colours
Of these brilliant shades,
Just close your eyes and let
These waters take you out, Sweep you away.
I watch you rise up every morning,
See you pray and humbly seek
My strength, my solace in the sunlight
Let me fill you when you're weak.
Each starry sky, each crystal light
Cannot describe my shining love
For you, my daughter, let me hold you,
Until the end, the end of
Time.
Time is a washing machine. You throw in everything you have to get done, all the dirt, all the mess, and all the stains. The dirt of the drudgery of every-day living, the mess that you've made of it that can only possibly be made clean, and the stains of things that you're heart has held onto when the machine has failed to do it's job properly. Then the washer does its work, by soaking things through, agitating with suds, and sucking out the filthy remains to leave everything not a little damp. And when it's damp, it's useless.
Today begins the fast.
But I just want everything to be slow.
