Ave! Morituri te Salutant!

We temper the foolish with alcohol in our mouths.
I will not say your name out loud.
For the night says it enough to drown my town.
We bury the gold in the floors,
With the bullet in the open drawer...
Rolls and clinks, calling to be used when its called for.
Forsaken child in a red wagon at sunset,
Sold into this somber regret.
A new brunette occupies my dreams.
I ask, "Do you feel fine?"
She says, "You can't be serious all the time."
But I see her in a white dress and flowers held to her chest.
Open, festering wounds like cuts in the wrist.
She reminds me of my mother at her wedding,
Black and white and formally dressed.
She holds my mind in arrest.
Told to me once, twice, three times to watch her eyes.
That was a sub-par ending to the night.
They tell you all you need to know.
She's in the northeast city surrounded and swallowed, imprisoned by snow.

The youth go numb as they fall in love with a dying nation,
And the golden wheatfields wave goodbye to the passing generations.

Someone once said, "Your heroes are words that don't exist."
Easy to say when they lay them in the grave.
The family holds your place.
A green hill on a horizon far away.
By your grandfather, father; your head and soul shall lay.
Down the vine boy, with your very best.
The night they drove you down.
Release the hands you hold.
You belong to God, below His throne.
When He touched you and broke you.
Broke you in half,
On a blessing while angels laughed at your effort.
You're only fighting yourself when God enters the ring.
So sing.
Sing loud.
Sing now.

The youth lie sleepless as they fall in love with the dying nations,
And the golden wheatfields wave goodbye to the passing generations.

They'll pull the bait-and-switch on you,
When you hit your stride.
And pot shots come at you from every angle.
So much so, there's no place to hide.
As long as they have their self-importance, and your glare in the gleen...
There's not a fast enough moving stream,
To expedite the faces we turn away.
So long to the ordinary.
Fair play to the contrary.
Everything in moderation keeps you from complication.
Orderly and practiced is the name in vain,
And selfish is the self-inflicted pain.
People will speak of bells they hear from far away,
But all I hear are voices throughout my day,
"Before it's over, make sure you have your say."