All the frames as they buckle plank by plank
And the windows shatter, the floors give way
And bats fly the gaps more or less freely.
I see the people flow into the street,
Some holding tools and some holding weapons,
As if to say that they will not relent,
That they will not be taken peacefully.
But it's hard to say, from this higher ground
What they believe and what they will do now,
In the rage of the mind that hovers above,
Ever-patient, waiting for them, waiting.
