O Come, O Come Emanuel

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.