Grease, sweat, coffee, faded shipyard pictures.
Giant living there I used to know.
Author of the testosterone scriptures,
Where did you go?
Now I remember what he told me that time,
Falling from my bike, scraping my knee:
«If you're gonna weep, keep it from sunshine,
so no one sees.»
I won't cry — «Above all things, boy, be a man.»
See little boy hiding amongst shadows,
Ashamed of tears exposing ancient pain,
From the storms predicted by the Tarot:
Pray for the rain.
I won't cry — «Above all things, boy, be a man…»