These are my grandmother’s words
I find myself searching for the hero inside me
However I can only address the dying
I colour in the poverty of broken crayons
Eyes immediately open I haven’t had the bravery
To close my eyes at the world and walk blindly
I have no moral compass no sense for the soul

These are my mother’s words in her time of darkness
I’m not a hero I am a solitary daughter
Leave me to paint to draw to place chalk on walls I carved up the earth to bend it to my will
I stare deeply into world as if it were a diamond
I am my moral compass and my convictions become me

I find that I am at peace searching for you
And here I am I’ll come to be a dying hero
With my colouring box I’m colouring the world
One eye closed as I shut up and I keep walking
And everything will come to an end
And yet I stand by my convictions
I find I’m still finding reasons to believe