The earth moves, and we begin again.
A few inches to the left,
past the remains of all of those
And if you pick some up as you go,
nobody will know;
oh, nobody will know it was you.
With your eyes wide,
but still it's hard to see beyond
the smoke that billows overhead,
gray, heavy, dead.
The weight of thoughts,
of love and what it means
to love those lost.