Turn your head the other way,
Walk with your head held high,
So that your gaze does not meet,
The turmoil below.

Maybe it’s just that,
A misunderstanding of all that is,
Hiding all your extended fingers,
Grasping at the prize,
As the sky turns red to shield you.

Maybe they were wrong,
Maybe we were right,
Maybe the world looks up to those,
Who steal from the ground from under those-
We claim to protect.

Sometimes its all a dream,
And the numbers can run dry to parched gazes,
Denial the cool relief,
Of that we wish to ignore.

Latching on to falling stars,
Can we really still be blind to its light before it dies?
For everyone knows,
It burns the brightest,
Disorienting all,
Before it crashes.