In their abscence
I was broken by silence
And tortured by the memories of their piercing voices.
In these new melancholy,
We all were not holy.
Touched by their stories,
In their failed glories,
Pleaded my worries.
Heavied by the turmoil,
Their errors spill up the olive oil.
In their abscence,
The meal went stale.
Devoted only to their pride,
The ill went ail...
