Shallow Holocaust

Little whispers from sad winds,

rushing waters carry tears of the broken hearted.

Forgiveness feels shallow in the morning dew,

 a lone walk into the pages of eternity.

Grieving for you, grieving for me.

Does the sun know our names?

Inside the mind to strife this pending pain,

knife wounds along the veins.

Stitches across checkered pasts,

one voice of the world calling for reprieve.

 

Empty our souls into the river of mourning,

one thousand two hundred and forty three gallons of blood given to heaven.

Sobbing in vain,

waiting to end this oppressive suffering.

Drowning on vomit,

watching out bodies mass buried by cyborgs.

Dominated by nuclear computers,

masters of humanities prison.

Dark eyeliner covers our fears,

waking in a blackened mist.

 

Shallow holocaust is our label,

a dark project of the U.S.A.

Bleeding into despair,

crimson plasma overfilling our youthful cups.

Dying in desolate alleyways,

forbidding figurines compress stolen souls.

Life stories growing cold by each day’s passing,

instilling dominance through force.

Looking into a sunless morning for a sign of

strength to bear this burden for all.