A poem of hope, of sadness, and of, above all, new beginnings |
This isn't like the conflicts before it's not for fun, son, it's a real war Men cannot live too many in too small a cage we are but animals, chained to our destructive rage Men must face their mistakes like leaving the spear for hoes and rakes We were not meant to live like ants in seething mound so we searched for release, and the spear again we found In the blood of our enemies, arbitrary for the glory of empires so pathetically temporary we were cast into the stormy seas off the Great Flood castaways for more than forty days, and the rain that fell was blood If only we'd stuck with spears these would've been happier years but men can't leave well enough alone for long and the coming fire will right so many things gone wrong We'll break the defending wall we'll take the final graceless fall And we'll set afire the fine things we've built Let blessed flame erase record of our boundless guilt We'll roam free once more put aside the dreams that came before dance beneath the buildings draped in living vine when no city lights remain to dim stars timeless shine We'll begin again in the green green grass and tip our spears with shattered pane glass In the shadows of gutted sky scrapers skeletal we'll blissfully move along, and in time forget it all |