Can you remember? Can you Recall?    	  
Before the tower, Before the wall?
Send me a message,  Hidden in song      
Tell me you’re ready now  To sound the call

I know they’re watching  - I know they’re listening
We are not sleeping	- We are preparing

Tell me you’re ready,  Tell me you’re strong,    
Tell me we’re not alone   Never were at all

I know they’re watching  - Their eyes are everywhere.
I know they’re listening – Yet they miss everything.
We are not sleeping – We plan in poetry.
We are preparing – Dreams of reckoning.

Be glad this rough cord chafes around our necks,
lest we should grow numb to it’s constant tug.
Urging on our march 
hand in hand to gallows 
Urging on our march
hand in hand to gallows 

hand in hand to gallows (X4) 

Spread your wings like an angel
Cast off these feeble bonds
Lock Sight upon the tower,
For soon we must take flight
Whether to watch or swing, we away to the gallows of kings,
But we stuttering stammerers are through raging in tongues.

Shall we draw sleeping daggers?
Shall we strike at the throat?
Has this gone far enough?
Shall we now gather stones?

Tarry not with heads of kings, ten-thousand wait the crown
But turn noose on hangman, and burn the god damn gallows down


At Daggers Drawn

where's the center of this web
and how do i tear it apart
every time i try to fight it
i just find myself all wrapped up
tighter and tighter
with no strength to break away
and no voice to resist
and no arms to pull me out from
the pounding of the waves
so i just watch us
consume and swallow
another kingdom
broke down to dust

Tighter

All towers fall to their own weight,
But the weather’s getting rather strange.
Ashes, like snowflakes in our hair,
make silent streets, make heavy the air.

In septic safety nets we’ve slept longing for disaster.
In stifled webs of hope we bow and scrape for distant masters.
Our desperation, boredom, toxic isolation mounted racing heartbeats frantic to get out.
Now windows rattle with the sound of marching feet and we can’t sleep.   
We dreamed about these days, I guess we weren’t the only ones.
Our ears are ringing, temples throbbing, then the nausea takes me.

Like thunder, bricks and mortar, count between the flash and rumble, just three breaths away.
Fierce engines, tears and truncheons beat a pulse heavy with terror to smother sparks of hope
We learn as those in labs and abattoirs, we’re purpose bred and worth our weight in dust.
Black autumn’s rusted rising, slips from daydreams to grey winters
No moment is without its toll, and bells sound in the distance
Where breathing feels uncertain, we still breath in defiance
Where every moment must be stolen, we are thieves glad of our lives

Stumble through alleyways, past monuments laid waste, 
Through ruined kingdoms built of bone past weeping kings cast from their thrones 
Scramble through the decay, chalky dust coating our face, 
Our features now all run together, nothing rules here but the weather 

We sway like grass the sun beats down upon our backs
The sky hangs red, our eyes are sore, but the air is sweet.
How, then, should we live this life?


HangTheOldYear