Faint is my expression, out of breath, chastised and drowned in whirl pools of confusion.
Neither here nor am I there, in the clouds or the bottom of the ocean, whirl pools of confusion.
A year be a day, an hour be what it shall be, I have missed you for almost a month… selah;
I hear stories about you, even what you did yesterday, you remain legend and myth
Alive or Dead, water and oil, I mix it and see your face in all of this confusion.
Young Cubs are the pride of their Patrons, Exile comes on the dawn of their glory.
Exile came before the dawn, darkness prolonged its stay till it was gone,
the sky woke up with the roar of my yawn, Patronage, dotage, the ranks that I have joined.
You are still my patron dear Father, I search for you even though….