A Closed Hand

Sunrise, sunrise, sunrise,
On my face when I wake up.
I have been fighting for an armed man
against the willfully poisoned.
I am the wicked means to no end.

Open wounded. A closed hand,

I will strike him with a closed hand

if I can’t avoid it

then I will lead him to the fountain

where the others will not see it.

Sunrise, sunrise, sunrise,

On my face as I walk out

While the city awakens

As they rise from their restless dreams,

and they say, “no, it couldn’t’ve been him,

It couldn’t’ve been him.”