They were made of, of a whitish, bluish light
And the arm looked like robes to me
And it was, like, flowing energy
So it was, it was really just this idea of a form
More so than an actual solid form

My child, myself, seems to reign
My mother, myself, runs fingertips up her forehead
Through our hair
Palm tops on socket caves
Instead of prayer
Or direct feed
Haven and squeeze
I huff, I puff, and blow my house down
(I huff, I puff, and blow my house down)

I'm tired of being tired of not being awake
This life is exile from home
You can't go home until you'rе ready
You gotta pass your exams