There is a secret to everything, Everyone's secret. Every mammal has its own milk, Even our galaxy has got its milky way, Milk & honey its messengers have rarely seen, Whenever we had it, it was a gift from the Everpresent unseen. We thought we're able enough to produce our own, we usually double it with water & sugar to keep our pockets as lubrified as our eyes. When He denied us the fictitious milk of golden calves, we started harvesting the milk of stray dogs, easter bunnies, our eyes milky with the cataract of money. If you breastfeed your child up to four or five it ain't madness to be locked up in towers, sarcastically publicized, it's throwing his future in the range of his Father's hands. Sometimes a mother's unable to point out a temporary father and even if she did, he doesn't bother, yet the real Father has never denied tears of a child or of his mother. Too often at the end of a life lived in our own sweat and the sweat of others, we count our bars of gold as we were told by the political statistician who kept our heart frozen on doses of ultimate sensation and morphine, too often we discover our bars are milky and their date to be consumed has long expired, that's when we generously melt them and give them to others. If you want your Eternity strong, melt your bars young, before your dates run out give them to Him, give them to the insignificant others... your treasure safely stored beyond the Milky Way.