What is a good death if not a safe bridge?
Wading righteous rivers of war,
in waters too red to look at,
admitting we can't see anymore.
What is a good bridge if not a safe heart?
Wishing for truth, icing the blood,
Hoping for gold, drowning in the flood,
reserved to not hear anymore.
Who told us to weep for ourselves?
Who gave up the game?
came up lame...
Who built these bridges
to keep us sure?
...of the pain,
now too weak to endure.