Gone tomorrow,
Restless puddles that ripple and borrow.
Stealing glances from pedestrian feet,
Children jumping through fire in the street.
Through broken windows and through coldest ice,
Taught to be naughty, wrong to be nice.

All the kids on the roof, the ones with their laces,
Tied to the gutters with upside down faces.
Moving past shadows that cling to the wall,
Racing toward madness to bring forth the fall.
And here in the kitchen, the bathroom, the bed,
The blood was so fresh and so thick and her head,
It sat in the corner of a long lost regret,
While the kids played with guns to try and forget.

Mother open your doors, don't leave them locked.
It's zero hour now and the rifles are cocked.
Here we breath revolution through the soles of our shoes,
Our broken hearts welded, it's time to make do.
We came with our bullets, we'll leave with our blood,
We'll walk through the doors without a slam or a thud.
-P.S.