In bitter times stones cut your feet
And the winds of change stood still.
When all the voices and all the wars were scratched into your heart,
And marked into your soul.
I watched and waited for you.
In the cruel and relentless call to arms
The mothers and the children hid
Crouched and beaten by the lies that they would live and never die.
In the hopeless gardens and the path of endless night
We sang lullabies for the forgotten orphan children of the street.
In the grey and dusty shadows
In the dirty blood of war
We all kneeled and prayed like we had never done before.
In the hospitals where homeless prophets bled a new and ragged wrong.
A place for peace and penance and a shekel for a song.
The watchers and the angels holy onto him
The lost and limbless martyrs count the seasons and the minutes one by one
Picking up the pieces of another holy war
The genocide that scattered bodies like little crumbs of bread.