Screech.
Ropes attached to my back are pulled tight.
Screech. Screech.Higher and Higher I am pulled.
I know I'm a symbol.
A symbol for hope.
A symbol for love.
A symbol for pride.
I know all this.
But still I droop.
All that I stand for seems to disappear the higher I go.
Tossed and torn by a vicious wind from the East,
I stand strong.
But each and every gust cuts me deeper and deeper.
Battle wounds cover my spirit.
I cry as long as this is war.