Old words

We don't deserve the desert moon 
And the burning trees.
Too many words hurt our throats;
We can't outrun our fears fast enough.

Our eyes are closed, ignoring the sun
Hiding in treasure chests.
The wind blows tears into clouds Filling an ocean with salt.

We will never understand
That this is the end of our smiles.

Stars are the only dreams left
And we save ourselves in dark fields of burnt trees.

We don't deserve the cleansing rain.

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