They're angels with their halos high

wings cut, on them it rains somehow

while over us the sun comes down

we're over them hovering's how.


Uncanny with the rats but crowned

by us, foolish and airheads

no one likes ghosts in this whole town

but us, fairish hope in the dead.


Fed then took to the light abyss

they hold our arms and pointy knives

the flowers are but myths in mist

could breach through loneliness in life.


Striving to suffer, starving for strife

it's your eyes not your fists I've missed

I see the colors echo some

or so no one's surviving this.


Still we stay aging, pilloried

for life, moving, closer to death

praying for a war that slaves would lead

a fight for freedom more than breath.