Value of the gold of gods
diminished in the eyes of men.
Atrocities of blood long shod
Convince us not to start again.
Death, destruction, fear and doubt,
A people running, hiding scared.
Glass in the throat. We cannot shout.
It’s war and we are unprepared.
Electric tongues of famous faces
spit their lines amongst deaf ears.
They try to shock, their lies leave traces;
lightening scars awash with tears.
Athena won’t you come to me,
explain the reason for this woe?
She will not come, our destiny,
to take a seat and watch the show.
Smothered in a napalm blanket,
tiny hands begin to reach
up into the flames that drank it.
No more children left to teach.
Through echoes of the promised land
the sound of drums attempt to tell
the story we don’t understand:
we are the reason we’re in Hell.
They arm themselves with dictionaries
for words too striking to ignore.
They slip them into policies
they don’t explain, but kill the poor.
Cry me a river, grab an oar.
O, Amphitrite strike me down!
They took our freedom, then took more.
Faith can’t save us. Let me drown.
There is a lesson left to learn:
do not succumb to this defeat.
Through glass walls we watch it burn
and play our mantra on repeat.
“O, woe is me, this world is cruel.
Please, no more, my heart will break”.
We make our coffins, fit to rule,
and lay down in them. Our mistake.