Saturday, 12 February 2011


we work, we war, we laugh.
these are the points of our cross.
we fight to live,
to make something from fuck all.
but noone gives a shit.

we twist our tongues
and ruin our bones
– we shred our hearts to secure love,
the warmth of a home.

our dreams? our ambition?
they’re nothing but a plight of awakeness;
the drama of food, of shelter
and turning each impoverishment into riches.

we are nothing, but we are chosen.
we are the nameless flock of the earth,
the movers, the commanders of a bloody ocean.
we are human, but we are not dying.
each cigarette is epic,
each cup of wine, an accomplishment.

we are heroes,
though each feat of prowess
goes unwritten.

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