If you climb the mountain of despair
I will greet you there
For my home is made of sorrow
And it’s found everywhere
No purpose for tomorrow
Here there’s little air
Watch him praying to the sparrow
Well, I still don’t care

Top, bottom, or in between
It’s the still same routine
Kiss them now or never
Been numb since I was fifteen
Blinded or with sight
Still can’t feel anything
With cure or a poison
There is no vaccine

© Delia Ross. 2019