Blood-stained Flowers
By RavenCross
Even the flowers are stained with blood, The massacre wasn't prejudice, Everybody died. Black and White, Man and Woman. Young and Old, Human and Animal. Everybody knows the roses have thorns. Prick yourself you might die. The flowers are still stained with blood, And the first rain since that night takes us down. Underneth the cornfields, You keep stepping on Broken Glass. Your feet are bloody, But they don't even hurt anymore. Since in this town even the flowers were stained with blood. Written November 17th, 2001 © on Nov 17 2001 10:52 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"Even the flowers are stained with blood,..."