You think you throw bombs and they destroy me I throw flowers back you think in your head everything makes sense you think I'm too dense to reflect I throw flowers back You think you invaded my home town you did not you think your force overthrows me I throw flowers back.
You pick up your pen nightly to get off your chest what lies on it heavy like a stone and you write inch by inch bit by bit what needs to be written down of all the horrors your eyes have witnessed all the beauty that you remember your hand shakes pouring ink all over your page and yet you get all the numbers right all the names and ancient signs You pick up your pen again this night tonight and you write honouring all ancient women' names in the soft moonlit room You put down your pen out of breath and sweat pearling down your chest knowing you wrote another night against all odds for the life of them