A small fickle flame, embedded deep in my chest. once a roaring fire now put to rest. by the hands of another. my heart, it now beats, a small brass drumbeat always ready to flee. deafening, dampened, quiet.

a sparrow once flying up high in the sky has now been shot down, it's weakened, it died. but the spirit lives on by the sound in the street and all of the people who danced to the beat.

the sparrow lives on, it breathes, it breathes.