poetboy5454

Our Fists Remain Raised

"Kill one, two, or one hundred roses. But they'll never stop the arrival of spring."

 

The day has ended and night has begun

Left in the shadows, blindfolded from the sun

That blazing hope withered and died

A chance at life backed by a million cries

Come that time when the ballots are cast

Lesser of two evils, two vestiges of our past

The aging ghosts of yesterday possessing our tomorrow

The weak crumble and fall into pits of their own sorrow

We are the weak, left without shelter in the rain

We are the weak, unable to soothe our own pain

We are the weak, bereft of a voice to control destiny

We are the weak, slaves in the land of the free

We are the weak, left only with our hands

We are the weak, and we sorely understand

That to continue our fists must rise

Past the despair and past all the lies

Kill a thousand stars but a million remain

We will be the fire that burns through the rain

We are the weak, who have lost the present

We are the weak, who will win the future

The ideas he left behind can never die

Clinging to the hope that things can truly change

Perhaps destiny finally is in our range

 

Our fists remain raised, our hearts remain unfazed

They may kill a thousand stars but a million remain

We will be the fire that burns away the rain

 

 

 



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