It’s a burnt sort of breeze

The type that grins with

Nervous thoughts

Boys call it beauty

We try not to believe them

It’s a burnt sort of breeze

A twisted core asks for change

The new don’t know the old

The birds will fall

It’s a burnt sort of breeze

But it will be colorful

Remarkably beautiful

Faces washed and flesh repaired

It’s a burnt sort of breeze

And the pain will return

And the memory will ****

Onto the arms of the weak or young

It’s a burnt sort of breeze

That circles around

She brings hope

But truces are irrelevant