Singing the ballad of joyless
Parturition, forced out of our tired throats
When our minds have been lost,
In the labyrinth of hope
Our laboured hope
Smashed to smithereens by the ugly boots,
Of our professed saviours.
Why? Should we sing?
When all heads bowed
In solidarity with the lifeless flag,
Fraught with frailty.
Eyes watershed drown the recital hymnal
Grabbing the fallen thin line of tune,
As we grope inward,
Searching out for a way forward.