Flowers on the Razorwire by Hexospectrum, literature
Literature
Flowers on the Razorwire
We could never fashion flight from our broken boned epiphanies
(Or raise our shattered glasses to the red on her lips)
But anaemic as horses we parade them through these streets
Revolution is nothing but progress here
Perched on razorwire fences
Birds give names to ghosts and raise them as their own
Truth is a figment of your imagination
And the telephone is the wire around your neck
Hung up with wishes across the grand suburbia
Our zeitgeist is a harlot
She teaches us that duty justifies submission. It doesn't
There is salt in the street but the banks are empty
From weeping like the chorus torn from our lungs
We never quite gra
