Fault Lines

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With the levels in hand
the rubbing of sand in the eyes
it burns like naked soles on deserts
as the vision is blurred
a degrading polish that leads nowhere

With the levels in hand
the scrubbing of dirt in the soul
it hurts like bullet wounds on children
as the path is disrupted
a returning dream that refuses oblivion

With the levels in hand
the robbing of light down the tunnel
it frights like white men with guns
as this hope is lost
a pondering wish that won't be granted

With the levels in hand
the breaking of the fault lines
it dies like genocide forgotten, ignored
as all I am crumbles
a wasted life plays back at me...

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