The land beneath my feet is hard
The grass the faded pages of a million lost stories
Belecia is alive
At least on the surface
Flora, Fauna, Us;
Transplanted and taking root
But I can feel it's heart
Still, stone like the fangs that stand at my back
The Gods desperately try to pump blood
Into a hemorrhaging body going cold
It stains their hands
How many hands...how much blood has been spilt?
My friends lie in their beds
Still, broken, marked by gold that will remain all their lives
I stare at the sky and feel a swelling of rage
At the Gods? At the greedy men who ripped up our roots?
I know not.
But I will become the mouth
That screams for all these silent hearts