His mother gave a shout and then you could hear the cries of a newborn child. This baby would grow up a young man in America. His name was Alfred and he was hungry for something he couldn't name as he ran around fields of wheat higher than the child. When he came of age for alcohol his mother told him of his daddy, a repoman who didn't give a damn for him. Alfred wanted everyone in his small village in the shadow of the mountain to know his name. A stranger came to town a man with golden hair who Alfred was immediately taken with. He talked to the man and soon the young man in America was getting married. He went to the field of wheat he used to play in now standing almost as tall as it, and there he saw a raven with a black and roving eye looking. Alfred was ravenous for something he couldn't name. He dressed in his finery, a coat of many colors and feathers made of feather knowing many men would envy him. He spent all his money for these wedding as he climbed a set of stairs with the golden haired man. Alfred's bones were hallowed and he moaned like the wind as foam flew from his mouth. He was a lonely son waiting on oblivion, waiting on the kingdom to come and meet him with his sins. He waited to be born again for a mother to kiss him check and chin once again.