Flags

Flags are fine for waving to the beat of the drums of war
Or to wrap the bodies cold from wounds that others words have tore
Or to use as measuring sticks, to draw that line within the sand
Fine to trick the masses with, that they are part of what you planned

My loyalty it lies with blood, the same through countless veins
Blood thats spilt so easily by those that hold the reigns
The scale I use is a human heart and the love that it contains
Tear away your linen shroud, and gaze at what remains

Take your tattered flag down from the heartstrings where it flies
For its murdering compassion, and its flight is not as free as it implies
I’ll burn your flag to ashes, then return them to the earth
Taking what brings death and give it back to what brings birth