Wakka wakka mothafyucka

And so to morning templates we cast eager eyes
We the born new babes from death of sleep do creep upon the light and gaze
Let it be a true day, or let it burn us blind
We ask not for pools of riches to swim within
Nor for bricks and mortar to cover us in walls
We ask not for bandages to cover our wounds
Nor demons turned from the angels that helped us in our youth
We ask only for the soulful rage of the drying crave to shout just a little bit louder
And a little bit meaner
Ferocity may flee but resilience cannot die
And though the flame grows weak it brightens in its retreat
The skin grows harder and harder and harder
And the heart clogs with clay mixed from pain and tears
And we say, "This will never hurt again."
But that's not the point
That not what we really want
We want to be torn open
I want to be torn open
So you can be pulled out
And then turn and look back
And I can ask your name.