They, confused and broken,Are sent to me in disrepair
To seek my accidental guidance
And though none for me, my hand opens
To lead and presage what's heard through touch
Questions cried by lost children
Under breathe of pretence and posture
He may stand before me tall and impressive
But in him, I see truth longing to express fealty
This pretence exhausts us both
As I must endure such an unskilled performance
And he, nervous that in the end, I will not applaud
My child, be comforted
That though I see you as you truly are,
So stands with me a man I truly love...
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