killing fields, man’s path to independence,
float across the oceans’ blue
waters to find fortune in war.
the start of a new beginning
but constant the bloody wounds,
with foot on their necks, our spirit.
raise the banner, a nation’s spirit,
a land of pure independence
healing all the world’s wounds,
as the soft wind of freedom blew.
from first breath was our beginning,
a peace secured by war.
send our sons away to war,
a mother’s soulful spirit.
too old for new beginnings
bequeathed to independence,
and shades of lonely-heart blue,
her ball of yarn unwound.
picking at the open wounds
of world’s marks of war.
stars upon a field of blue
overflow their collective spirit
at the point of a gun, independence
is only the beginning.
the fire served as the beginning
of the end. the wounds
scarred over in the pendants
of her eyes. dark wars
to break our gentle spirit
the empty sky was blue.
our bodies black, skin beat blue
colors of a true beginning.
unleash the one primal spirit
which another man cannot wound.
revolution but not a war,
a call to independents.
streaming down a flow of blue
and red from countless wounds
a long forgotten sole beginning
the stained white dress she wore
rejoice unto the sacred spirit
her blade our independence.