All the sailors are seasick... All the soldiers have shell shock... All the lovers are lovesick... All the growers are killing... But still the healers keep their watch, And tired hands mend what they can. Some stranger shares a crust of bread, And light returns through broken man. All the law-makers are law-breakers... All the singers have lost their voices... All the ladies have ruined their bodies... All the men are still babies... Yet broken things remember how To bind themselves with thread and fire. And out of rubble, slow and fierce, Something living claws its way higher. All the children are old... All the jokers are crying... All the mourners are rejoicing... All the leaders are following... But somewhere, footsteps gather strength, And whispers grow from spark to flame. The ones ignored, the ones cast out, Begin to rise and speak their names. And still the dawn keeps inching forward, Across the rim of night and ash. Though now the world forgets its Center, The Center never turns away.
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