So now they condemn the hate? Well now, isn’t that just great? When Nazis are at the gate there’s no room for debate; they come together to state, “That’s not us, let’s get that straight.” Such courage! To do the right thing, take the swing, straight down the plate.
When so often they were benched, so many voices they’ve quenched. When oppression left them drenched with tears, their mouths remained clenched. The shrine of hate remains entrenched from the ground, ne’er to be wrenched; but you claimed the easy win, used your grins to hide the stench.
I love to watch you settle; all the strings cut loose you fall like leaves in a pile of cool autumn waiting for someone to get lost in. All the senses call it earth; a place to grow, take root.
I am not sure where to start here, the details feel soft, incomplete; an old song I try to repeat, but none of the words come out clear.
So what would you have us do here? You say they are near; but so what? Who is they? Who am I even? I don’t believe in your causes, I hardly trust reality. I’m told that I am free, but I’m bound, I’m told to speak, but silently, Then quietly you reset me like that makes it better somehow. Oh come now, don’t press that button…
I am not sure where to start here, the details feel soft, incomplete; an old song I try to repeat, but none of the words come out clear.
There is a static to the air tonight; electric, like muscles pulled taut alkaline-fresh wounds from a recent fight. Who was it though that could have fought? Has the air fought the clouds for naught? Or a source never to be made clear, some sharp edge swung but never caught… This possibility is my fear.
Without the sun to burn away my plight the night rises to plunder thoughts, raising swords, shooting guns, causing a fright and I forget all I was taught; clouded sails in my mind, distraught. Wind and fire torture them severe and such will be my final lot… This possibility is my fear.
Senses lost to a nightmarish delight, one means to an end my heart sought while the rest of the body fills with spite throwing away what gains I’ve bought to harvest the pittance time wrought as angry as a failed pioneer with no use for the tools they brought… This possibility is my fear.
Though all I’ve done is all I ought an air of tension is growing near; could all I am end up forgot? This possibility is my fear.
We stand waiting for a break in line, Staring the thousand yards at our spines Through BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM violent hues in bloom; Metallic rain that levels the pines.
The captain calls out over the sounds, To send another out to the hounds, BOOM-BOOM the bombs crawl, BOOM-BOOM and they fall; No more will I see them above ground.
Hearing my name sends ice through my veins I breathe deep and embrace the insane, A last act of violence, sulfured silence; I hear nothing, nor shall I again.