There Are Flowers In Our Footsteps

Sink the needle in the skies,
Stitch your worries to the earth,
Shed your tears from broken eyes,
While the sun ignites the hearth.

Sing the song of aberration,
Make the most of placid sorrows,
Fill your lungs with desperation,
While the clock sheds what it borrows.

As the ashes climb our bones,
Our domain reclaims its right,
For our blood has stained the stones,
And the world harbors tragic spite.