With words like swords and fists like rocks they knocked the weak from the top.

Hearts withered and torn to shreads, they never saw their dread.

The pain and suffering, the hatred and heartache.

All to make off like thieves in the night, taking what gave them their flight.

Ripping wings from angels as they soar in the sky, all but to see them cry.

What they took was more than feathers, bone, and heart.

But they took their life, all to mock and jest their love or association.

In turn leaving a scarred nation.

With friends now scarce and bare, it was what they took:

The ones who cared.