From the cramped apartment window
The snow-covered pines stand as soldiers
With musket arms they shiver and plead:

We once stood planted on this hill
And holding fast found we must kill

To crush the hate we found out there
But we turned our backs to find despair

And we grew lost through fog and pine
Our hatred wasn’t healed by time

And if not reconciled our collective past
Our souls—these drifting houses—won’t be the last


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