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Bad Religion
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1
the brown and orange sky holds its breath
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as the sun retreats to the distant horizon,
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and our hearts palpitate anxiously as we soon will lay supine,
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and wait for sleep to overcome us
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and from somewhere in our black,
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subconscious minds when we're asleep,
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comes a haunting swelling mass of voices,
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resonating, its screams of forgotten victims and the cries of innocence,
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and the desperate plea for recognition and recompense
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tiny voices, echoes of our heritage,
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our long and sallow faces turn the other way,
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tiny voices, harbored deep within
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as we outwardly deny that they have something to say,
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and if we don't confront them they will never go away
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the billions of tiny pinhole embers fade into a morning sky
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filled with poignant morose wonder,
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waking a bear a cosmetic peace that verifies the turmoil
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which we carry deep inside
Bad Religion - American Jesus
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