An adult in the cradle of love

There ain’t nothing, this or that,

There ain’t no shore, here or there,

There ain’t no one, now or then,

For I’m a bastard of lost dreams.

Bring me a toy of vibrant hues,

To the beaches I ain’t sunbathed,

To build castles of loose sands,

For I’m a clown in the circus of life.

Bring me a tome, forget its genre,

To the shades of trees I ain’t slept,

To comprehend the chapter I ain’t read,

For I’m a student of passion unlived.

Bring me a prayer mat, old or new,

To the shrines I ain’t sauntered,

To say the prayers I ain’t learnt,

For I’m an orphan of broken faith.

Bring me a wind, gentle or fierce,

To the peaks I ain’t scaled,

To croon the verses I ain’t jotted,

For I’m a piper of sour notes.

Bring me a cloth, black or white,