You. Are the flooding river of bludgeoned virginity,
The ancient ceremonies of children to the sky.

We. Are the Sun, we are the sons and daughters of not the Earth,
But the Universe, born from specks and stardust.

You injure us at mass, we cry, and we bleed.
Our mountains are scarred but they won't shed a tear,
They pretend they were born that way,
But birthmarks mark more.

Your metal monsters,
They hush us to sleep with sweet, sweet lullabies.
When we have been quelled,
They bite at our flesh and tear pieces of our gentleness.