On lightest petals,
Does flowers form her words.
Sheet thunder settles,
From syllables to trios of thirds.

Froze in pose, never loved so.

We are the damned of all the world
With saddness in our hearts
The wounded of the wars
We've been hung out to dry
You didn't want us anyway
And now we're making up our minds
You tell us how to run our lives
We run for youthanasia