Shed a tear for the sad weeping willow,

Shed a tear for a pebble on the shore,

Cry for a rock or a shell.

Cry yourself to sleep cuddling your pillow,

Imagine a world that exists no more;

Wasteland that turned into hell.

Halt the movement of the stars. Stop the clock.

Or hold your breath and rush headlong towards

The final hour of our doom.

The key’s in your hand our fate to unlock,

Or around our necks to tighten the cords…

Cry!… Sunt lacrimea rerum…

© P. J. Oszmann (2004)
© Illustration created in Photoshop (2005) 

* sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt" (Latin)

(Vergil: the Aeneid: )= these are the tears of things, and our mortality cuts to the heart