In echoes of peoples past,

and indeed in fervent song, 

there is a tale they mean to tell

of a man made un-wrong.


They speak to him as if a child,

and laugh as he challenges

a system that is Right.


Unwittingly making a tool of their demise-

for a catalyst they all have made,

a people they did incite.


And when the tables are upturned, 

and dead lay in the streets,

they look down still and say that they are Right.


The fires of the willful will leave dead in the streets-

their chorus will ring in the air.

For a sign- nay a beacon of the tragedies occured there.


A Change! 

-their cry to cloudtop high,

an echo for the dead.


Brothers, bleeding in the streets-

On opposite sides,

Seeing through shades of rage.


A blow to the head,

a blow to the eye,

and the Crack of skull on concrete.


Shades of color to each other,

Shades of red to Death,


And



Shades 



Of 




Grey




In 






Flesh