tell me

tell me why the son’s left cold;
why bent must break for solemn’s sake.
to live a life outside oneself –
the apparation clap and break.

tell me why the song we praise
when hearts are dead to every beat –
like soldiers marching in the night;
we’re blind and lost, curse every creak.

tell me why in black and white
the green is pure, the red is dead –
yet for a night my heart will melt
into the darkness, to the grave

tell me, what can you save?

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