A rope hangs from branches that seem too brittle
To hold such a deed; this terrible song, it rings
In my heart, this mantra I heard from black birds
And little boys. I wonder if their souls were as white
As their faces as they faced their death; clenched fists
And blistered feet, so many hungry miles tread.

I wonder if the wizened men knew their blunder
Regret did not show but on those in love, leaving
Sweet maidens, fair babes fatherless
But the sun only burns new skin, it cannot replenish spoils
Only show what has gone bad.

The light is cleansed, but when darkness reigns
Those few hours whilst the good world sleeps,
Shadows no longer creep, they consume
And the shrieks of silent men finally let loose
Reverbrating off church bells and swinging nooses.

The people must be deaf, in sleep, for I am kept awake
By these restless, wronged souls, as they weep, weep
For the days forever behind them—for their time came
Much too fast to be called anything but murder.