When quiet riding on a hazy dawn
Leaves a trail of lonely zone
Where pink carnations utterly ignored
How can a mother love her other?
The son, the daughter, they make motions
Off, away, far from their lover
Who cooks in the kitchen stove
While waiting for some footsteps on her door
All daunting of a prodigal’s return
Maddening and sick mingling to some crowd
This runaway heart is not an everyday’s pride
Uncertain, leave him, love him, what else?