Some place days and miles away,

Another reflection fades to a simple grey.

A body of flesh and blood turned divine,

Awakes to see the crosses raised overtime.

Reaching for a pill inscribed redemption,

Only to find their hands bound by good intention.

Looking around at dead eyes,

Seeing their tracks leading to no reprise.

As their lungs expand to scream once more,

They slowly fill with the thick waters of the moor.

What will we do?

When the lights go down,

And the rivers overflow,

But reach for those

Who have screamed before,

And have cared

For even our whispers,

Who are hopefully there,

When it is our turn to scream.