Silhouettes

As they all see the new sun,
they lose all sight,
of what has begun.
It is a bright light,
that burns the love in your heart.

To the angels in the sky,
It's a form of art.
But they can fly,
and don't feel the pain,
the suffering and death,
that swims through our veins.

Before the last breath,
we don't even know,
what we'll become.
On our lips we show,
How short-lasting was our fun.

The land is destroyed,
but do not fret,
your pain will be void,
and before all has set,
nobody will have enjoyed,
becoming a silhouette.