Petty Complaints, Yours Truly

I hope today you,

Walked outside with a true confidence,

Since I'm not there to see you,

In fact I have no idea where I am in relation to you,

But we're still holding out hope,

Like a child over a crowd,

Of pressing immigrants,

Dirty fingers hooked through swinging fences,

I want to,

Believe you're there.

I want to,

With crossed fingers and quick glances,

Something pounding and something processing,

I am foreign,

I am an island in revolt,

Against it's only sacrificial god,

Scouting planes in the cloud cover cannot see,

Oh they do not see the flames begin to rise!

Outside everyone's cheering,

And I can't for the life of me remember anymore how good it is,

To revel in the safety and the element of the communion of saints.