Sweetly the music rolls through the empty lounge, the vocalist’s youthful timbre immortalized by electronics. Strange magic, it seems, to hear a dead friend’s voice once again singing soft love songs. Were that all the voice could do, had it not strayed from its pin and spoken forbidden things…but what-ifs are an empty comfort.
Only in the quiet hour can I remember you. After treacherous fiends of friends have taken their drunken stumbling way home, then I dare to cherish this moment. In this lonesome revelry my hidden heart is safe. How could they kill such an angel? It should have been a law of nature that such promise, such talent, would mature. Like a budding rose caught in a fire you perished.
Your voice in the record has not aged a single day, and my old hands, covered with liver spots, can barely pop a cork now. These dim eyes are nearly blind in the fading light, but your eyes never saw the Fall. Yet, somehow you wrote that song.
Freedom for hard chains we have now exchanged.
Liberty for peace, a cannibal’s feast.
When the meal is gone remember this song.
Love’s soft lies despise,
truth is in their eyes.
A wolf’s wink deceives
upon you he feeds.
These people hunger,
and tear asunder,
this nation’s wonder.
What have you achieved? And what is the fee?
Gold for ashes now, God’s face made to frown.
His pearls before swine, after filth we pined.
And what remedy,
can make wise the fool?
What known chemistry,
will fix the gene pool?
Is there naught to do,
to steer from this doom?
The end came so soon.
These red-handed crimes forged terrible binds:
Children’s blood we spill for imagined ills,
Sanity tabooed, and soldiers marooned.