[Jack Walls]
And under the bruised, black sky
Blanketed by stars
Serving light like murals held high above the ant hill we call earth
It's where we sang songs about destroying the art of song
It's where we burn books in protest of arson
In protest of destruction
The beating of humanoid hearts
Quantized to a clicking mouse
Its rhythm building walls around itself
Soundproof and with no proof of life and no signs of death
What we have been searching for had been written in the banks of the leaves
And the the dirt we had spent a lifetime trying to wash away
Was the God we had tried so hard to put a face to