They're angels with their halos high
wings cut, on them it rains somehow
while over us the sun comes down
we're over them hovering's how.
Uncanny with the rats but crowned
by us, foolish and airheads
no one likes ghosts in this whole town
but us, fairish hope in the dead.
Fed then took to the light abyss
they hold our arms and pointy knives
the flowers are but myths in mist
could breach through loneliness in life.
Striving to suffer, starving for strife
it's your eyes not your fists I've missed
I see the colors echo some
or so no one's surviving this.
Still we stay aging, pilloried
for life, moving, closer to death
praying for a war that slaves would lead
a fight for freedom more than breath.