Follow me,
Shirt-brother,
Rise from ripped,
Yellow faces.
Leave behind
This field of death,
The bloodied grass,
The wind that effaces
The wandering souls
With its chemical breath.
This moment will pass,
As you sink into clouds
Streaked with the traces
Of the brave and the proud.

The images of eyes
Burning like coals
In post-partum skies
Will guide you,
Brother,
As you search for peace
From a life you despised,
From all those wasted years.
When you hit the ceiling,
And dive like rain
Onto a landscape stained
With painted tears,
I'll be in the dirt, kneeling,
With my neck bent back,
Screaming upwards
So you hear first
The only words
That I know will work;

"I told you so,
Brother,
For what it's worth."