Watching silence shift through aching trees
I thought I might see Sunday again
In it's radiant age of wear and tear.
Holding back that which brings us closer
To the end will give me time to gather
The tears in bunches to burn.
I becoming living camouflage in child's play,
Except my fake guns were pointed at
An altogether different enemy today.
Right before I get a shot I'm forced
To dodge the silver bullets from the sky.
This time fire gets to serve its first
And last purpose as the ashes draw
Pictures of smoke in the air to show
Us how much we've lost our way.
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