Dreary fever that runs
Deep in soul,
Is just as clean as murky ponds.

Within myself, I search for light--
Which is dim and demons fond.

Perhaps, the light of night and stars,
Or placid shine of aching moons.

I yearn for light, yet dread what’s bright.
Fearful tunes or lovely gloom?

The heart that thumps beneath the flesh
Is only grand as rotting log.

And light within this soul of mine
Is clear as blood,
And dense as fog.

hiding in the siren silence
within sight of invites of violence
in the sky the plight of tyrants
righteous mighty fighter pilots

biased bombs in flights of guidance
goliath might, the fire of giants
without a fight or try of defiance
set alight in frying alliance

in the final piles of subsidence
the dying cries of compliance
the price they paid is the highest
the siren silence finally quiets