No one can help but avenge
Every bit of pain, all that loss;
We cannot help but want revenge,
Feel our pain upon the cross.
And thus so branded with a stigma,
So that no one will forget,
And speech so full of charisma,
Preaching on a bed of regret.
And yet, we never remember
Times when history repeated:
Every cold, bleak December
When all our hope is depleted.
