There is blood
on all our hands,
but you
you will not admit this,
so for those of us
who will,
who sing this song,
this most silent song,
alone in a clearing,
among the trees,
we take your blood,
there is blood on our hands,
and we wear it as raiment,
we wear it as wings,
we wear it as all the proof we need.

For those of us
who Listen.

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