We are bent, but not broken. Our bodies are old tree stumps cut down long ago, but our hearts and minds will stretch like branches, reach towards the stars that we'll wear like late cherry blossoms. We are dried and withered from years of harsh words against our skin, and battered fists into our guts. But, you and I, will join together our hands and intertwine our fingers into limbs a hundred strong. We will stand taller than they, upon hills and mountain tops, higher than the clouds that once blocked our eyes. We are the underdogs, while they sit among their riches and animosity. But we are the ones who will change this world, dig up the soil and plant the remains of what little good is left in the palm of our hands.