So angels do not hear our fearful cries,
our voices are muted beneath the sun,
and we are frozen even when we've won.
Trapped in a world of loudly buzzing flies
we can't be sure of either truths or lies,
there's no security beneath the sun,
for it's all finished before it's begun
as we become the things we most despise.
The days run faster before life returns
from the dark hollows of uncertain times,
but we're not satisfied by normal life.
What we desire is a warm heart that burns
with light enough to heal our sordid crimes,
and silence then all anger, fear,
or strife.
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