Demo

The silver birds were turned to yellow, orange, black and red by lunatics that yearned to fill our jaded hearts with dread, an effigy morosely burned for the spirits of the dead, a searing torch that won’t abstain lamenting those unjustly slain. We’ve all been tired, we’ve all felt poor we all have things we’ll struggle for but no person should ever need to make another human bleed by nurturing a pointless war; a decade isn’t nearly long enough to heal from pain so strong yet as each name is spoken loud, their noble sacrifice avowed, catharsis calms the throng. That sad September day, a prelude to the coming fall when innocence fell prey to evil’s noxious choking pall will never fade away, with love we honor one and all— the spectrum of forgiveness flows through the prism of our woes.