Marches and Maneuvers by Thursday

This is a war we live.
and the sides are drawn, sides are drawn.
We're all wrapped up in fatigues
and they wear us out, wear us out.
There is a storm at sea.

If we fly a white flag
under a black and blue sky
will the red sun rise?
(The taste of your kerosene lips burn me up)

The glare from your enemy sights make me go blind.
Blinds divide the sunlight into thin strips,
the size of a blade,
in this trench that we dig for ourselves.
Fourscore and fade.
Glare with the enemy hear of the bodies in the bed. There's no retreat.
This is a war we live in.
Now we're up in arms, up in arms,
with our heads pressed against the wall
(and it's wearing thin, wearing thin).
These are the screams we swallow.

If we fly a white flag
under a black and blue sky
will the red sun rise?
(The taste of your kerosene lips burn me up)

(The glare from your enemy sights make me go blind)
This is our war.
Administer the pill (Keep fighting!)
before the cell divides (Keep marching!)
and we'll both go down like toy soldiers.
This is our war.
Threats and picket lines are forming around our beds
and the landmines in our chests will all go off in time.
If we trip each other into this,
do you think we'll find a way out?
we've synthesized a compound to treat this conscience, its:

one part loss, one part no sleep,
one part the gunshot we heard,
one part the screams mistaken for laughter,
one part everything after,
one part love,
one part stepping out of the driving rain.
One part parting ways
in the cold apartment, dont look back
just keep running down the stairs.
Do you hear the footsteps?
Can you hear voices in the traffic?
Communiques in the attic?
They say after time, all this will heal,
we will rebuild and these broken arm will mend
themselves in our embrace.