Who knows when it'll come again,
fall through the sky again,
scatter black jewels as a record
of our groans of pain?
A wind to sear our faces,
leaving minute traces
that despite our remains
we've managed to remain the same.
The sun-piercing rainbow,
the kaleidoscopic cloud,
the poison in the air we breathe
and the water on the ground,
the density and the magnitude
all serve to enshroud
the spiraling shadows of shame.
