Peace be upon you, don´t let peace be a pawn used
A black rose that only grows to produce thrones made of thorns
For false kings void of roots, family trees branchin´ out to low-hangin´ poisonous fruit

Mirages of olive branches that never extend to truth
Linin´ the Orwellian orchard of forgotten souls
And martyred youth, generations of teardrops waterin´ trees that once grew
Blood runnin´ like scarlet rivers, floodin´ and seepin´ through the crust
Deeper and deeper, reachin´ the core and burnin´, turnin´ into the holiest dust
Vessel tattered, but the spirit untouched
Metal birds will eventually rust, sunbirds die willingly at the hands of the unjust
Just to become firebirds soarin´ once more above us
Reduced to rubble and labeled dirt, prayin´ under birds of prey
Sees waitin´ for roots to take in the decayin´ flesh of unsculpted clay

Proverbial veins wrappin´ around fractured shoulder blades
Willin´ to carry the weight of the gift, the curse, and the fate