in a never ending circle
we cry ourselves to sleep
not quite a sob, loud and hard
but a hot and graceful weep.

on ground that feels like enemies
raging from far and wide
we beat it with our tiny fists
and cast our smiles aside.

in air that bites our necks
with chills and early frost
we mourn for what we've found
not so much for what we've lost.

as children oh so delicate
and fragile to the sight
we so pure are dirtied to find
such evils in place of right.

we find war drowning peace
when man ceases playing fair
and we find love has disappeared
like breath in frosty air.
 
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