|
The brown and orange sky holds its breath |
|
As the sun retreats to the distant horizon |
|
And our hearts palpitate anxiously as we soon will lay supine |
|
And wait for sleep to overcome us |
|
And from somewhere in our dark |
|
Subconscious minds when we're asleep |
|
Comes a haunting swirling mass of voices resonating |
|
It screams of forgotten victims and their cries of innocence |
|
And their desperate plea for recognition and recompense |
|
Tiny voices |
|
Echoes of our heritage |
|
Our long and sallow faces turn the other way |
|
Tiny voices |
|
Harbored deep within |
|
As we outwardly deny that they have something to say |
|
And if we don't confront them, they will never go away |
|
The billions of tiny pinhole embers fade into a morning sky |
|
Filled with poignant morose wonder |
|
Waking a bear a cosmetic peace that verifies the turmoil |
|
That we carry deep inside |
|
And from somewhere in our dark |
|
Subconscious minds when we're asleep |
|
Comes a haunting swirling mass of voices resonating |
|
It screams of forgotten victims and their cries of innocence |
|
And their desperate plea for recognition and recompense |
|
Tiny voices |
|
Echoes of our heritage |
|
Our long and sallow faces turn the other way |
|
Tiny voices |
|
Harbored deep within |
|
As we outwardly deny that they have something to say |
|
And if we don't confront them, they will never go away |
|
Go awayGo away |