Mittoo
Member
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Here, my baby. A blanket.
Velvet or cashmere, smooth and soft.
It’ll keep you wrapped, and safe.
Oh, don’t ask what from.
Nasty Things, Dangerous Things.
That blinding light, the Sun’s glare.
It makes my eyes hurt just thinking about it!
Trust in the blanket.
I have one too, my baby.
Oh, don’t ask why mine is darker.
Maybe, in time, you will get one like mine.
Your blanket will grow.
Don’t worry about the holes; they’ll close if you try.
Just wrap yourself in the blanket,
let it comfort you.
Oh, don’t ask how it’ll do that.
Trust in the blanket.
The people who don’t have their blanket?
Oh, they’re wicked people.
They looked at the nuclear fireball and did not stir.
They saw the holes in their blanket and looked for more.
They threw away the comfort, called it stifling.
But I could not – we can not –
Live without our blankets.
Don’t talk to them, child. Their view is skewed
by the Sun in their eyes.
Trust in the blanket.
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