It really is all getting to me
We choke on air that burns. The towers fall.
Over and over people leap through flame.
There's left no easy death. We threw that game
With broken dice. And we are guilty. All
Of us are guilty. Hopelessness is guilt.
Innocence never an option. We have lived too late.
Ashes and dried out thistles on our plate
Crushed by the fall that brick by brick we built
From plans we traced on water in the dark
Cannot remember. Paper girders tear
Confetti. In our death no justice. Bear witness
For us. We meant no harm. We heard a lark
Sing climb. And leave remembrance of that joy
To weigh against all we watched or helped destroy.