I will rise from my bed with a question again, as I work to inherit the restless wind,
The view from my window is cold and obscene,
I want to touch what my eyes have not seen,
But they have packaged our virtue in cellulose dreams, and sold us the remnants 'til our pockets are clean,
'Til our hopes fall 'round our feet, like the dust of dead leaves, and we end up looking like what we believe.
We are soot-covered urchins, running wild and unshod,
We will always be remembered as the orphans of God,
They will dig up these ruins and make flutes of our bones,
And blow a hymn to the memory of the orphans of God.
Like bees in a bottle, we are flying at fate,
Beating our wings against the walls of this place,
Unaware that the struggle is the blood of the proof in choosing to believe the unbelievable truth,
They have captured our siblings, they have rendered them mute,
Disputed our lineage and poisoned our roots,
We have bought from the brokers who have broken their oaths,
And we're out on the street with a lump in our throats.
We are soot-covered urchins, running wild and unshod,
We will always be remembered as the orphans of God,
They will dig up these ruins and make flutes of our bones,
And blow a hymn to the memory of the orphans of God,
A hymn to the memory of the orphans of God.
