I'll be old soon; all my summers spent inside will mark my hands with shadows and rivers My old winters will grow through my eyes, and I will cry, rusting my two planets I will also cry It will also cry It will also cry on My lips Those red mountains screamed everything I had to say at two years old and then nothing Two years old and then, nothing ? I look at my field; never did it grow a battle Cold will come soon; let courage be my mantle We will rise and carry our own banners The worst is done The voices trapped beneath my tongue will call and shout the names of those who cry I will also cry I will also cry I will also cry on my lips Two years more and I'd be haunted I look at my field—at last, it will grow a battle