| Creation creates a void
|
| My hand held to the glare of this burnt impasse; |
| yours
|
| Necessarily on the other side of some sickly metaxis
|
| You’re caught in stasis, matched with mine
|
| Quantify time with meter and rhyme to calculate a way to prove that you are
|
| alive
|
| Isolated, trapped between
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| A picture of you now stained on the street
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| Oh mother, teach me how to die
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| In your shadow, I saw to a distant future
|
| Your life was only a nominal fee
|
| Singing the sound of silence, signaling the end
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| They took your life, mother, as a pretense to pretend
|
| The hand that feeds us sat you down
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| Covered my eyes, thrusted the styli
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| Retraced the timeline to call it suicide
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| Will you wait for me?
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| Death was the chorus, our lives frames in refrain
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| Softly we sing notes better sung by our dead
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| I’d rather sleep and see you soon than die alone
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| In the waste of this nuclear catastrophe
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| We were made to create
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| You spoke us out of nothing
|
| Out of the chaos we caused
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| Naked we came, shadows we leave
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| Salt of the Earth: preserve their songs
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| Light of world: burn out the shadows
|
| Infinite echoes of stifled screams
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| The abyss you created will ever stare back into me
|
| Will you wait for me? |