A song - the truce

Former Member

The oldest type of warfare,
We wage it from the ground
We’re not sending up the airforce,
Nor causing guns to sound.

But we’ll still be digging trenches;
Blockading ourselves in.
Arming, bracing, waiting
For battle to begin.

I don’t want your anger,
I don’t need your rage
To know the declaration
You’ve scrawled across the page

You’ve put fire to the fuse.
Still I don’t want to spy
The sparks we lit together
Ignite across the sky

But we’ll still be digging trenches;
Blockading ourselves in.
Arming, bracing, waiting
For battle to begin.

I will lay my arms down
In No Man’s Land once more,
And wait for you to know how
To end this endless war.

To plant the roots of truce there
Brought forth by the whitest bird.
To staunch the flow of loneliness;
To stem the tide of words.

But we’ll still be digging trenches;
Blockading ourselves in.
Arming, bracing, waiting
For battle to begin.

It’s spreading out it’s wings,
Preparing to take flight.
But you’ll still pull the trigger,
And so I’ll lose the fight.