Now for music, the riddled silence.
A mute resonator, the now empty street.
A lifeless, airless scene.
All round the quelling forces.

Those fools think they killed you.
They see only what is apparent to the eye.
Their mind doesn’t go any farther.
That’s pretty obvious.
I cogitate:
With blood we cover our every faith.
And as I think, somewhere afar it’s windy.