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October Falls
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Below the Soils
There are no questions, no riddles or a marks from the gods
No saviour, no redemption for the cross-bearing hearts
There are no footmarks to follow
Only the gallows in sight
This flesh is weakened and strained
Yet still roaming ahead
The tears of salt or the drops of blood
All shed from the same trees
And the roots of the scarred flesh
All spread into waste
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There's a mark, there's an invisible scar
A sight with distorted hope, carved into stones
Written in trees, burnt into pages of history
And whether to fight or struggle in silence
To give steel or to lay in the pyres
A spear in the chest or a knife in hand
To lay below the soils or to march for these lands
The flesh is weakened and strained
Buried below the soils of the brave
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