Clay

Sorry my apologies, for being human,
I was merely born this way.
With a thumb on my hand
I rule both night and day.
I build my thrones on borrowed sand,
And crown myself in everything I slay—
Their teeth, their bones, their feathers, their skin,
Their skulls are trophies of all I’ve sinned.
My apologies for being man,
I never learned the sacred plan.
All life gives back the breath it can,
But I just take, and take again.
My apologies… for being man.
Oh, the DNA of humanity—
A riddle spun through eternity.

A code of fire, bone, and clay,
But why was I shaped this way?
The fox bows down to feed the land,
I build my walls to block its hand.

My apologies for being man,
I broke the balance nature ran.
The world gives all, yet I demand—
Forgive the clay that thinks it can.



My body’s on loan from the soil below,
Yet I box it to cheat what I owe.
The fox returns, the sparrow will fall,
But man builds a tomb to escape the call.

Being a man, I have a heart the world can never fill,
So I build and burn—but I’m empty still.
In the eyes of beasts, I see my end,
The circle they keep, I cannot mend.

They look through me, without disdain—
As if I was lost when given a name.
Silent forests hold their breath,
Waiting for man to learn of death.

Can you reshape this stone and dust,
Into a creature kind and just?
A spotted ray, a blue jay’s song—
Something that knows it still belongs.

For I have taken without plan,
I’ve lost the art of being man.
Life eats life but knows the cost,
My kind forgets what love has lost.

We burn the seed to light our way,
And curse the dark we made today.
The circle bends beneath our weight—
The earth remembers, the stars will wait.

My apologies for being man,
The debt runs deeper than I can stand.
The beasts forgive, the oceans span—
Still I whisper, as one who ran:



My apologies… for being man.
Oh, the DNA of humankind—
The code that binds, and makes us blind.
If all must fall to rise again,
Then teach me, earth, where to begin.
For I was lost when given a name,
But in your silence, I’ll learn my shame.

May 1 day, may 1 day , may 1 day
May 1 day I can mold my own clay .

Math Rock, Bluegrass grass, cello 
9/8, 2-2-2-3 . Low range vocals, female