Can you smell the air?
Through the bars of the cage.
What happens when the books fall?
Will we breathe in and turn the page?
It started with the firing squad.
Raining down from the heights.
What will clear the air?
After a thousand stormy nights.
Like fish in a net, we are caught.
Forced to follow where the ship will steer.
Drifting further from our home,
And the ones we hold dear.
Onward they march, the relentless youth,
The judge and the jury.
They mirror who we once were.
All the anger and all the fury.
There will be no savior,
But still the faithful elders wait.
Waiting for something to blossom.
But the soldiers come knocking at the gate.
It started with a rifle.
And here it ends with a pen.
'Revolution!' cries the new youth,
And it starts all over again.