I Am
In these hearts where men roam,
Traveling from said place to said home,
Mimicking the giants that rise in front
of their fragile, tiny eyes, games being made,
Names being called out, Number one,
And he is the first to fall,
Number two and she is the first to die,
In three hours of intense static, a siren shouted
Numbers
It was trying to be dark that day, and the clouds
cried out with drops of madness
Washing their hair, their numb hands,
Cold rivers flowing around children who laughed,
Becoming tributaries at every strand of hair,
Dirt devils in the ground
The grass is dying,
The grass is dying,
Stretchers come to collect their dead with mechanized
Fingers, filing fallen angels deep within cabinets,
Silver frames, manila files, records of dreams unrealized,
Placed beyond their mothers reach, past their fathers hopes,
Pride isn't saying much, and living is misunderstood,
Until your addressing the wild flowers, face down,
Scars built into your skin, an identity preordained by the guillotine,
Glistening with icicles that were always there,
You can't be scared anymore, but I can,
Shake, shake those crystals from your hair,
The irreparable damage happening slowly, melting you away,
And they are pulling at what is left of you,
All I have left of you, I'm not ready
Goodbye.
- Hark
Traveling from said place to said home,
Mimicking the giants that rise in front
of their fragile, tiny eyes, games being made,
Names being called out, Number one,
And he is the first to fall,
Number two and she is the first to die,
In three hours of intense static, a siren shouted
Numbers
It was trying to be dark that day, and the clouds
cried out with drops of madness
Washing their hair, their numb hands,
Cold rivers flowing around children who laughed,
Becoming tributaries at every strand of hair,
Dirt devils in the ground
The grass is dying,
The grass is dying,
Stretchers come to collect their dead with mechanized
Fingers, filing fallen angels deep within cabinets,
Silver frames, manila files, records of dreams unrealized,
Placed beyond their mothers reach, past their fathers hopes,
Pride isn't saying much, and living is misunderstood,
Until your addressing the wild flowers, face down,
Scars built into your skin, an identity preordained by the guillotine,
Glistening with icicles that were always there,
You can't be scared anymore, but I can,
Shake, shake those crystals from your hair,
The irreparable damage happening slowly, melting you away,
And they are pulling at what is left of you,
All I have left of you, I'm not ready
Goodbye.
- Hark