Madmen break the wings of angels to see their humanity
If only for a moment to feel power over the divinity they loathe
"Destroying beauty may bring peace to my own turmoil" they reason
Commiting treason on the nation of promises and lust once erected solid
After all this, there's no god in which to trust.
Currency of apologies fail, and banks of good faith shutter doors
Riots of emotion surge around buildings with white picket fence
Crushing the gardens tended by 2am discussion, and shy smiles.
Demanding satisfaction for the crimes of lunacy, and atrocities against innocence
Diamond tears clink and tinkle on the ground,
Her most valuable currency, but he won't accept payment.
She'll fly again, evenutally, but never with the grace of an eagle.
Happiness will be melancholy and vibrant colors dimmed
Trappings of fear skulking in the darkness around the streetlights of hope
Rampage of riots demanding justice, faded to upheaval, then to tumult, and eventually just a fracas.
With spraypainted reminders of what we once fought for etched on brick wall
"She's still perfect" was the battlecry that we all believed and she couldn't see.
Humans break the wings of angels to see madness.
She'll fly again
Because she's held aloft at her hips by somone who remembers how it felt...
...How it felt to fly once too.