Standard (EADGBE)

 Dear Prodigal, you are my son and I

 Supplied you not your spirit, but your shape

 All Eden's wealth arrayed before your eyes

 I fathomed not you wanted to escape

 And though I only ever gave you love

 Like every child you've chosen to rebel

 Uprooted flowers and filled the holes with blood

 Ask not for whom they toll the solemn bells

 A Child Of Dust, to mother now return

 For every seed must die before it grows

 And though above, the world may toil and turn

 No prying spade will find you here below

 Now safe beneath their wisdom and their feet

 Here I will teach you truly how to sleep