SWASH

Wake me in the dawn
I grow sick and tired of waiting on the sun
Laying on the ground
And breathing the dust from the bombs
Building up your strange contraptions
And trample fields of flowers underfoot
The hunger and the fire you're burning
Has turned our poor Earth's carcass into soot
Desolation on the surface
And restitution for the resolute
Living in the subterranean
Wreckage amidst all these stolen hues