Words shaped like thunder from the mouths of the young fall on deaf ears of the as yet unsung. Who call upon melody to crush the murals of the blind. The houses of the damned from the bones of the living and put children together by sharp needle sewing.
The voiceless cry for justice as mothers do for sons. When peace is declared at the battle's begun. The soulless grow weary in wait for the timeless who come atop the saddles of the manacled restless. Infants gather butterflies from the veins of the loveless.
They march in a line afront those who are able to mock and heckle as they stare too far away to their heaven is hell to all but they.