A group of fearless poets,
Ready to shout,
Standing near the dead trees,
And sitting on the huge gray rocks.
I need them to listen,
I need them to hear me cry.
I feel alone.
Like I'm the only one standing near the dead trees.
Who would listen to us anyway?
Like anyone would care.
We need help.
We need to shout.
Hear us cry.
Now just shut the f* up and listen.