Loss of a Song

As every heart is broken,
and every man becomes a shell,
the song of an angel is spoken,
a shallow repreive from this hell
but as we lose ourselves
become mere puppets of men
waiting on dusty shelves
for our masters to come with a pen,
label us as broken,
fit only for scrap wood,
for we are shells, unspoken
silent and misunderstood
The cycle continues forever
and no one will ever belong
people are no more than puppets,
because of the loss of a song