History in the form of dark scars
Cover the length of her arm.
A black bird cries for another life.
As sharp as the blade of a new knife.
Remember when the sky was blue?
When the deer would play,
And the grass was green too?
Remember when the stars were bright?
When children would play
And sing songs into the night?
As dull as the blade of a worn knife,
A black bird cries for another life.
Covering the old ones on her arm,
The future in the form of pink scars.