The pens will drop
When the sun darkens
In the hearts of the twisted
of the broken and ravenous

The doors will crack
When the fist pounds
On the hearts of the sick
Of the wounded and tired

And the waters will crash
When the sword is drawn
From the unknowing
From the ignorant and the brave.

And what of the breaking hearts?
The crumbling families?
The widowed and the lonely?
What of the sons and daughters,
The mothers and fathers,
When they come home to see
Their sons under a tree
Buried deep?
Are we now free?