Marches and Maneuvers - Thursday
this is a war
we live and the sides are drawn.
we're all wrapped up in fatigues
and they wear us out, wear us out
there is a storm at sea.
if we fly a white flag,
under a black and blue sky,
will the red sun rise?
(the tastes of your kerosene lips burn me up)
(rise) glare from your
enemy sights make me go
blind/blinds
divide the sunlight into thin strips,
the size of a blade,
in this trench that we dig for ourselves.
fourscore and fade.
glare with the enemy heat of the bodies in the bed.
there's no retreat.
This is a war
we live in.
now we're up in arms,
with our heads pressed against the wall and it's wearing thin.
these are the screams
we swallow,
if we fly a white flag
under a black and blue sky...
will the red sun rise?
(the tastes of your kerosene lips burn me up)
this is our war.
administer the pill
before the cell divides
(keep marching--keep fighting)
and we'll both go down like toy soldiers.
threats and picket lines are forming around our beds
and the landmines in our chests will all go off in time.
if we trip
each other into this,
do you think we'll find a way out?
we've synthesized a compound to treat this conscience, it's:
one part loss,
one part no sleep,
one part the gun shot we heard,
one part the screams mistaken for laughter,
one part everything after,
one part love,
one part stepping out of the driving rain,
one part parting ways, in the cold apartment. don't look back,
just keep running down the stairs.
do you hear the footsteps?
can you hear the voices in the traffic,
communiques in the attic?
they say, after time,
all this will heal,
we will rebuild and these broken arms will mend
themselves in our embrace.
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