Thunder Beauty

Children's belly's swollen with rage that their ignorant mouths cannot be held accountable for.
The older trees, the ones with unknown power just sway wherever the winds tell them.
Generations of traditions tangled with red tape from tangos of too many years.

- Where are the Fires? -

Men in black suits at black-tie-affairs sneak affairs with women who have black eyelids.
While wolves in sheep clothing slash necks and everybody is too busy looking at their own reflections.
Drink a little more, sleep a little less. "Everyone's doing it!" That is the lie.

- Where are the Fires? -

We have too much time, but the sands are deceiving. Everyone smile for the cameras.
It sickens me down, but nobody listens. They are too busy looking @ internet FrrIenDzZz.
Just rip my heart out with your too-white-teeth and replace it with something shiny, please.

- Where are the Fires? -

The Thunder Children, we are too few.
With a flame in our hearts and anger in our fists.
We can change this. We really can.

You just have to ask yourself,

- Where are the Fires? -

This is where I would usually end the post, but I am going to add on by quoting lyrics written by Simon & Garfunkel.

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence