In the Silence That Follows.

In the beginning it only saw the sun,
this world that lived up to such high ideals.
Whatched as towers grew and people run,
through countless techno fields.

Everyday the lights grow brighter,
no one worries about sin.
That's just a dark past that grows lighter,
each moment and is eventually lost within the din.

It breaths, this city, this world.
Like a living body it spreads out and it takes in.
So beautiful and powerfully unfurls,
with its dangers hiding just beneath the skin.

I rush through all this gorgeous complication,
in my glass tower buzzing in and out.
Cruelty and kindness to my specification,
Who cares really what it's about?

Yet the problem about forgetting,
whether one woman or a city full of men,
it's never truly a different setting.
The past always comes back again.

So we make the mistakes each generation will,
the noise of progress and life much too loud in our ears.
Then once the blood begins to spill,
we only try harder to hide and ease our secret fears.

Humans in denial,
the most dangerous weapon yet.
I sing all the while,
perhaps we deserve exactly what we get.

Next the tides begin to grow hotter,
tensions high and cautions low.
We don't see the lamb before the slaughter,
and now something's about to blow.

My life like this place, I'm just wathching the shows.
Me and society close our own book and send it to the shelves.
I blow, the world goes...
Our technology messiah cannot save us from ourselves.

Infants die, mother's cry, all in the name of need.
The bomb from deep below,
nurtured by the world and carried by me.
Birthed in wonderful new horror and woe.

When the fires have finally settled,
we try to understand what was lost.
Tampering where we shouldn't have meddled,
but we chose not to see the cost.

One simply can't take stock,
the devestation caused by woman and man.
No begging can ever turn back the clock
and its impossible to really understand.

Like this life, this world, this creation,
I'll sit barely alive in my desicated home.
Unable to process this total desolation
of what we have sown.

From my world to every single life,
there will come this time of sorrows.
Yet maybe we can remember this strife,
in the silence that follows.