A paper storm to sink your myths
These false doctrines which prophets sip
They tell me how they see me wrong
My rage will strip and shame this song
The tracks of tears that burned my heart
The sting of salt, of bitter smart
They shut me down and turn the screw
I’ll bite my lip and bleed for you
We’ll muscle in and steal the truth
We’ll write our song and burn the roof
A paper storm to shred their myths
What use is life without the risks

All Rights Reserved – Alicia Fitton 2017

If you liked this, try Hope – An Old Campaigner