Welcome Back, Jonathan

Wake up — ouch, that hurts, who are you?
What a beautiful boy, so brand new.
Jonathan is his name, or so I heard —
Wait, nobody hears a single word?

What is this pain, what is all this?
I can't walk, my legs won't exist.
I can't talk, I can't move at all —
This body is tiny, helpless, small.

"Ma'am, you have a beautiful boy —
a perfect, precious bundle of joy.
Do you have a name picked out for him?"
The mother smiled, her eyes not dim:
"His name shall be John," she said with pride.

"Ooh," said the baby, "now I see inside —
it's all been a dream, I understand.
I died, and now I'm dreaming again by chance.
I hope these memories stay with me true,
or maybe I'll forget the life I knew."

The king appeared by the nursery glass,
removed his hat as he came to pass.
With both hands he opened wide his chest —
a golden plate with jewels, richly dressed.

He looked upon the child through the pane,
touched his finger, whispered low again:
"Welcome back, Jonathan." The words rang clear.
The end has come — but rebirth is near.

Welcome back, Jonathan, welcome back.