Blood-stained silhouettes, blurred shadows on the wall we construct a hangman’s gallows then go skipping through the mall Souls too weak to whisper our words fold into prayer the dead feed off the living and dust becomes the air Some people start to gather shake their fists and curse the sun while others mumble silently quoting Nietzsche and Carl Jung The silos hold no missiles The silos hold no corn The empty silos bellow At a world that’s full of scorn Time misspent in wonderland in what-might-have-been galore with a distant grin we stir our gin sit cross-legged on the floor regret displaces hopefulness hate becomes our core anger conquers gracefulness with flash bombs at her door Volunteers go knocking on windows and locked doors a search of all the wounded souls buried under dusty floors Rubber necks on splintered decks missiles pierce the sky the crackling fires from funeral pyres sparkle in our eyes The silos hold no missiles The silos hold no corn The empty silos bellow At a world that’s full of scorn Time misspent in wonderland we sip on broken dreams In weeds of woe and circumstance life leaking from our seams
