How lovely it would be to confess under starlit skies,
While fires burned in a distance.
But they drag us from our beds on those moonless nights,
tell us we are worthless,
Demand we burn their skin.
But we merley laugh in their face.
How dare they?
Do they not know our father?
Do they know the love that courses through the veins of his children?
Oh, daughter
Oh, son
Drop your seething anger and useless weapons,
There is peace with being a daughter,
There is wisdom with being a son,
War is not our inheritance.
- KG
