Son With Arms to Lend

O release your tongue, tell me son why you came. These walls of stone are not your home nor know your name. I took my leave, rolled my sleeve, fed the vein. Child now you’re a man, to where I ran, don’t run again. I came from below, where they move slow, fled from the chase. He brought me here, the charioteer, he flew with pace. Now I see a ghost, he is the host of your face. The son before his eyes has left the skies and joined the race. Long I have walked the road alone. Going quickly through an empty dome. You’re disappearing from a throne. Go now friend, meet your end. I am not a son with arms to lend. O hear me boy if you’ll employ my broken song. I left with haste but not in hate, I meant no wrong. This broken home can house no son who does belong. Turn your face at once and return when the sun is burning strong. I came to meet you at the feet of the flame. The sky began to crack, you sent me back from where I came. I heard you loud in breaking clouds and quaking rain. Though I did not fear, I see you clear, I know your name. Long I have walked the road alone. Going quickly through an empty dome. You’re disappearing from a throne. Go now friend, meet your end. I am not a son with arms to lend. O my second son, you’re not the one who is to succeed. I witnessed your birth, you’re not the first image of me. I buried your head in Jordan’s bed south of the sea. Now I see you before the arch of my door, I bid you to speak. I came wanting before though I need you no more now your face is thin. I was your second son, would never become a radiant king. I grew my own vine, drank my own wine, wore my own skin. Now javelins pierce a sky that is fierce with trembling voices that sing. Long I have walked the road alone. Going quickly through an empty dome. You’re disappearing from a throne. Go now friend, meet your end. I am not a son with arms to lend.