We forget the shapes of our banners
Have been sewn from skin
Thread hewn from heads that dreamt
Of better times to live in
We raised them high in ashen dawn
Their tatters kissed by flame
Each rip a vow we never kept
Each mark a taken name
The wind that makes them shudder still
Is breath from forgotten graves
A chorus stitched in silence
From the seven sleepers caves
The bricks beneath our cities hum
With marrow ground to lime
Our monuments are ribcage-arched
Our clocks keep borrowed time
And when the children ask us why
The sky tastes sharp with rust
We hand them flags of flayed regret
And teach them not to trust
Thus horror mothers horror still
Call progress what we pave
The future sprouts from furrowed bone
A harvest none can save
