Am I stepping out of line
To say that a war crime
Is not something I can bear to see
The silence that gets the best of me 
As I struggle with some imaginary chains
But sometimes you just have to let the rains
Fall upon the lands so green 
And this ground has no queen
Who would rule and lord over all the grass
As least not the kind of noble that would last
On any kind of throne
God is the source of the place I call home 
And It issues from every space I step 
It is the space of no regret 
But somehow I lose fifteen years 
In silence and in tears 
As they struggle to contain 
The part of me that is all rain
And I fear to write
About all of this shite
I feel the tendrils encapsulate 
And tell me what I should and should not state
They call it OCD 
Then go and change their tune on me 
It’s psychosis, there’s creaks on the stairs 
And there are reams of unanswered prayers
Just sitting in the envelopes marked send 
When will this torture end
As I try to be somebody but my twin flame
Comes back and calls my name 
As I lie awake in bed
Why can’t I get him out of my head
And is it trivial to say that his love
Fits me like my grandmother’s glove 
The ones she used to wear to mass
When I was a child in class
Reading about the Second World War
Now the urging is what it is for
As I strive to be the voice that speaks 
But there is nothing for weeks and weeks 
As the flood builds up behind the damn
Do they know who I am 
When they destroy 
Every bit of girl and boy
In the strip 
There’s a poisoned chalice and I take a sip