Away they go, fading into the distance on a small boat. They say they're going to take refuge in a far away land called England but I say they are desperate, suicidal, brave. Willing going into the void of unknown, the sea, the ocean. The strong and heavy currents rocking back and forth, the sky with storms loud enough to deafen a whale The sky, dark enough for the nightmares to become real. Most are driven to run, no. Its an excuse, an excuse for the desperation, the hope of them being able to live somehow. To leave their kind behind .
Most are dead, my world is gone, what used to be a land of happiness and joy is now a warzone, a land of terror, where no one sleeps. No guilt is found , the corrupt are too many, this was once known as my home, now I would never sleep there happily, the blood spilled among the many roads is too many. My voice is too small to make an impact. Now I go, into the unknown willingly, my sleep is beckoning. You'd probably say good luck but you'd now better, for in this country, hope does not exist.
