The End Of The Road Is Cecil, PA

Call it a white flag, call it response,
hang it on high, on top of the hill,
pick at that scar till your bleeding,
there is no name for our disease.
When you are old and deaf to this tone,
remember the hands that hold you down.
You never learned how to survive
hide in corners and swallow your pride.
I wear a thin smile, and a butcher's heart,
this old blind will has twisted my bones,
your heart's ablaze with reasons,
let's watch the flames and let it be.
Part with a soft word and no other sound,
let the bird sings and untangle, at dawn,
all of the torn threads that shaped our past
they now seem pointless, beyond our grasp.
This is my offer, this is my peace
I'll give you thank you, the rest we bury.