The boy watched the girl sob by her dead father’s head,
blood matted against silvery crimson hair,
(that she’d loved to stoke so much when they lay in her bed).

The boy watched as the girl started to shake that man's head
calling to a non-existent thing.
The boy watched as the girl started to scream
as he wondered what he might have for breakfast.

The girl turned and looked at the boy,
the boy that was wondering about breakfast
and as her nose ran wipped away by her blood clotted hand,
she thought she might like to hug him.

The crow sat on the fence by the road
and screeched to his mate that he’d lost.
The crow sat on the fence by the road
before hopping to the floor just below.

But come to the sky and look up from here
and down there you’ll see what they don’t.

But come to the sky and look from up here
and down there you’ll see what they don’t.

That dead man and girl,
hungry boy and crow,
that deadness and being hungry,
that moving and crying,
are but bloated&knackered old words
are but (are but?) meaningless concepts&associations&infestations,
that when listened to and reacted to,
make tears of sadness fall.

But most of all,
But most of all,
Scream it! Bellow it!
But most of all!
But most of all!
They make them blind to that rainbow
that sparkles
so remarkable
so simply
just over their heads.