27 June 2012
Walk her into the room Shackle her wrists in old iron chains
Cover her head in water Tear off her clothes Kneel her before the alter Force her to pray To an imaginary conscience
Mention not her name But her race Her religion
And her family crumbles
I hear Tiananmen Square
Is kind of quiet these days Push drugs into her veins Pull the truth out of her lungs
She catches a glimpse
Of an eagle
Through the stained glass windows A tear rips through her left eye
And one hundred and eighty seven soldiers Salute to their country heartlessly
Bones like paper planes
Skulls containing beautiful brains
All go to waste
When mushroom clouds engulf cities
Roughly count the bodies
Build a stone pillar
Carve their names
Because somehow that helps
Even stone crumbles.
-Emile
Bones Like Paper Planes • Opuss № I