underdarkness's picture

When you’re gone
They’re still fighting with their bullets
Until another inch is stolen,
With the peal of the radio
Telling us who’s winning.
And the crowd is silent -
But they’re screaming in your head.

So they say that they see
The endearing mental illness
Of the direction.
Still, they fall, still they die,
They are dying.
And the crowd is fighting -
But they’re calm in your head.

In the sun
The shadow bears no safety,
Stripped down and lost of dignity,
They’re still fighting with their missiles.
And the crowd is still -
But they’re fighting in your head.
And the crowd is screaming -
But they’re silent in your head.