They hid behind the trees

we thought we would leave standing

in our streets,

Watched us spend our days

digging into the ground to find space

and the nights, wandering lost in it

We walked around barely ever smiling,

Our tragedies so slow we grew old knowing them

We made love and washed off

our tortured sensibilities in it

We lost love and rubbed shoulders

with the executioners.

On the road going up the hill

we were the white horse questioning his faith

On the road going down

we never thought twice, and ran

like the world ran away from us