Sing my song,
Sang from a hard beating sentiment
Mad from the prospect of red topsoil
Covered in fleshed shrubs
Furrowed scattered,
Armed in cold blood
The audience is startled
The song is then sang flamboyant
Entry restless nights
Disciplined, without convictions
The life we bide.
Bullet knocks,
Fearing the opener, not to open
The sound so loud
And, too frightening
Voice yells
Giving directions to spurt
The children are at home
Not a way to school
Roads are smoking tyres
Stones pass flying birds
Rushing to destroy
Glasses are blasting in extreme wrath
The rumours, read from the air
Latterly, we will see
Ash to ashes
Our friends are absent.
