My little boy on the kitchen floor.   (my little Basquiat)   Stick men fighting stick dinosaurs.   (my little Basquiat)   Colours leaping all over the mat.   (my little Basquiat)   The kitchen floor is where it’s at   for my little Basquiat.      One day   he’ll be golden,   maybe chosen,   perhaps to lead.   One day   he’ll be shaken,   maybe taken,   perhaps to bleed.       My big girl swinging from the bars.   (my little Comanice)   Fist of stone flying above the yard.   (my little Comaniche)   Halfway up is halfway down   (my little Comaniche)   or maybe it’s the other way around   for my little Comaniche.      One day   she’ll be moonlight,   maybe too bright,   perhaps, to shine.   One day   she’ll be found out,   maybe ground down,   perhaps she’ll cry.      My little girl on her mothers lap.   (my little Panchen Lama)   Sucking on her fingers, surveying the roadmap.   (my little Panchen Lama)   Seems to be the only one around   (my little Panchen Lama)   that sees the red lights at the end of town.   (my little panchen lama)      One day   they’ll be older,   maybe bolder,   perhaps, than me.   One day    they’ll be rising,   maybe living,   perhaps, in peace.      Lyrics submitted by Silverbutterfly