Burial Ground

school yard turned burial ground, kids rush through halls

That resemble the streets of iraq, as if they were the soldiers

Trying to fight their way back.

Land Of The Free! Once again paints targets of Red on our backs,

minus the White and Blue cause there’s no honor in being killed by the

Nation that was supposed to nurture you.

17 soldiers!--I mean students shot dead. Bullets rang and our peers

Were slain. Shot in the back *ClickClack* Once! By the gun *Pow* Twice!

By the country to which they pledge allegiance, and before its guns they

Bow. Oh how everyone bows: Grandparents, mothers, fathers, complete strangers bow down.

lighting the candle of another silent death, their lives as short as that last breath, children made into the nameless child we forget about once the flame flickers out.

This is a sickness...

A sickness for which the only cure we’ve been offered is our president’s

Condolences. All the apologies begin to overlap l-l-like that old record Sk-sk-skipping over a scratch...

and the same tired song becomes the voice of the childless parent who has nothing left but those condolences to tuck into bed come night.

but…

I guess as long as you’re sorry that makes everything alright.

Right?