The Flowers
From the blood of disgust
Derives the sadistic shadows
Having grown heavy a burden
Unto the flowers
In the graceful hills
Despite a mere chime
For desperate resolution
Their every note sounds off
As unheard of to the Undone
I hate those flowers in the hills
A teeming mass of genocide in kind
They are to claim no peace
Of the chopping stone
Whereas what settles in scores
Oft' stems with the bitter sweets
Fertilizing speaking children
With what a quiet bullshit
Can only convince them
They should never believe
And as night continues denying itself
Of its own cradled beauty
Their sleep deprives of them
What their dignity has lost
For the blood that marks
The hands of today
Has walked all over
Prosperity’s only solution
By wiping away
Yesterday's thereafter
Beneath our feet
There are no buried Monsters left
Therefore today you cannot see them
Nor tonight should they ever hear you
As life still revolves
Around its scattering of seeds,
Regardless of whose blood
The future may sour
I hate those flowers in the hills.
