Marchers
Ending the day,
Do as I may,
Falling onto the grass,
comforted by the large green mass.
Seconds turn to hours, clouds come in,
uh oh,
it showers.
Wake up, this isn’t grass.
This is a nightmare,
mind if I share?
There was lots of giving, no taking, We were happy, not faking,
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Money didn’t matter,
The air was filled with chatter.
There was time to sing and play, No signs of dismay.
There was time for music, no one was Punic,
No need to fight, talks of peace held every day and every night.
There was no Carthage. There was no Rome.
Only people, sharing this little green rock that we call home.
At the end of the day the grass is where I lay
but,
I woke up.
Back into this nightmare.
Suddenly I awoke, covered in sweat, from this dream into this nightmare.
