At the Bottom of a Lake

What deep is this?
What screams are these of butterflies?
I have not heard such symphony of silence,
I have never been so cold.

Trudeau ashen a vision affixed on the mind's eye of a nation;
nothing could crumble the man but this.

Take all and I shall win it back, take my life and I shall visit your
dreams.
Take from me my pride, or surely try.
I will find a way.
My son at the bottom of a lake is more a sin than bargained,
the rules have changed and my faith you've tricked.
How dared you leave me at his eulogy to face an empty casket?
How ignoble, how shallow.