a swamp full of grabbing hands
clawing through the streets of new amsterdam
light giants dragged along in the ashes
yesteryear’s fires burn once again through the classes
tiers upon tiers, clambering up barren trees
diving upwards from beneath their seats
watching, waiting
watching, waiting
then we sleep…
year after year, crawling up the scaffolds
slipping, slipping, grasping through the biting cold
as a state to stand alone, for what we care
an anniversary of peace within the heart of a massacre.