The emptiness that we confess
in the dimmest hour of day,
in the common town, they make a sound
like the low sad moan of prey.
The bitter taste, the hidden face
of the lost forgotten child,
the darkest need, the slowest speed
the pattern reconciled.
These photographs mean nothing
to the poison that they take,
before a moments glory
the light begins to fade.
The outward cost, of all we've lost
as we looked the other way,
we've paid the price for this cruel device
till we have nothing left to pay.
the river goes where the current flows
the lightning must destroy,
events conspire to set a fire
with the methods we employ.
these dead men walk on water
a cold blood runs through their veins,
the angry river rises
as we step into the rain.
These photographs mean nothing
to the poison that they take,
the angry river rises
as we step into the rain.
