Hush daughter, breath
low and slow, low and slow.
Imagine a cross-section of a lake --
its surface at eye level smooth and blank
when nine pebbles (in a line) fall to the depths below.
Hush daughter, be
still and silent as stone,
We may march into that cold lake of lost souls.
We will wade into the water of fears.
And white skin will soak up our blood, sweat, and tears.
Wake daughter, and
run, and cry, run and cry
Nine bullets dragged their bodies through the veil.
Grab each one and become the tattered kite tail
as all fly above and pierce the sky.
Rise up daughter and
blast into the light.
We shall overcome the tale of that sorry night.
