Night wakes up after the storm.
It is the Falcon, this wind
Coming in to rip what hope
We have in this wretched land
The priest's bible talks about.
Having nine children, like
The nine lives of a cat is all right,
Alright. We have people to send
To shores away, send in the dollars
Back to us, like tornados
Whirling back to define what
Lives in flooded streets we
Can have. We go with the life
Of a promise, political or otherwise.
In the meantime is the threat
Of pandesal rising, in truth
And in fact. The former president
Appears to us in the apparition
Of her lies, and we begin to believe
One more time that prayer is all
We have got. The revolution is none
On the breakfast table even if
After the fact, after the hunger,
This is all we have got.
The night wakes up.
It is morning here, the morning
After the day that unleashed
The wrath of drunken gods,
They in their habit of punishments,
Us in our delight for spectacle
And sacrifice. Lives have been lost
As rivers swell, and we begin
To rebuild dreams demolished
By the long night.