What Are You If Not A Victim?

Take the sickles down from the steeples,
This ice blue blood red ringing sound.
Torment the abscess of our precedent,
Watching the empty walls fade away again.
And we’re destined to chain ourselves to the walls.
Burn victims torpedo through the air.
Listen as the roof caves in overhead.
In synapse of these Vesuvian ash worn memories.
They’ll suffocate before picking the locks.
Scrape through metal with their burning lungs.
Tie off the ankles,
They kick when they swing.
Spread out all the anthems,
We all preach an infectious disease.
Evoke the atmosphere of an interstate blockade,
Evacuation procedure relapsed at the wake.
People hold your head in the palms of your hands;
The heavy faces of these graveyard excavations.