What should be.
All the pomp and circumstance, All the trappings of decorum, become the trap, The hook and chain that wraps us tight, The noose on the stage. We dance among madmen, Spin stories of love and hope Against poisoned souls, Bent beneath the sole of a petty god More monster than savior, But they scream for him all the same, Draw blood for him all the same. And in this space we stand, Raised voices and hands, Bound together, not by chains, But by hope and care and possibility. These stories we spin, Rising like wildfire, burning away the darkness, An awakening and rebuilding, A reclamation of what should be.