nothing is happening

the scent of death contaminates the day
we close our eyes and wish it were not there
we hold our breaths and hope for cleaner air
we wonder what could happen on the way
but as we all remember what to say
our words do not all choke on our fear
we wonder who'll be next to get the spear
while behind doors the sullen children play
the sure salvation of our rotted hearts
is by a road that few will dare to walk
unless their minds of hope and sense are free
instead we play the usual assigned parts
stay silent unless compelled to talk
and turn our backs to the wide open sea