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matthew-nicholsPoems
Sweat soaks our collars Sons speak with fathers Mothers wring Their hands of spring The temperature is rising Distant news of fighting Speak of revolution Peak of evolution Matches set to fire Flames on the bridge grow higher No retreat None we need Voices in the night Torches quell their fright So it begins Road to the end They watch from their windows Down the ramparts we assemble Voices boom Speak of their doom Soon we dawn our armor Soldiers made from farmers Say goodbye To this life Guillotines are raised But hearts are still ablaze Filled with hope We march the slope Archers man their stations Swords shake with frustration Soon we move To save you Blades against the evil Arrows fly with eagles Walls torn apart All for your heart The faces of their generals Grim against the rebels Away they fly Oh they try Drawbridges have fallen Wounded they are calling For a truce To stop the coup Don't enter the basement They will offer any payment But I know You're down below A room made of chains Heavy with your pain I cut through My sword true A ballad for the ages Played on all the stages They remember That cold December When a boy became a man With faith he took a stand A love for you Was all he knew
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Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
Revolution Of A Heart
Sweat soaks our collars Sons speak with fathers Mothers wring Their hands of spring The temperature is rising Distant news of fighting Speak of revolution Peak of evolution Matches set to fire Flames on the bridge grow higher No retreat None we need Voices in the night Torches quell their fright So it begins Road to the end They watch from their windows Down the ramparts we assemble Voices boom Speak of their doom Soon we dawn our armor Soldiers made from farmers Say goodbye To this life Guillotines are raised But hearts are still ablaze Filled with hope We march the slope Archers man their stations Swords shake with frustration Soon we move To save you Blades against the evil Arrows fly with eagles Walls torn apart All for your heart The faces of their generals Grim against the rebels Away they fly Oh they try Drawbridges have fallen Wounded they are calling For a truce To stop the coup Don't enter the basement They will offer any payment But I know You're down below A room made of chains Heavy with your pain I cut through My sword true A ballad for the ages Played on all the stages They remember That cold December When a boy became a man With faith he took a stand A love for you Was all he knew
matthew-nichols
Written by
matthew-nichols
American
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
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