A newborn's cry is heard;
Her eyes closed as they rest;
Banshees have dug her grave;
Every night she digs for another;
Rain pours down onto each stone;
She is tortured by her child's cry;
She drops to pray for refuge and salvation;
The Lord listens, and wings sprout;
But the mother lay still;
Oblivious to what has occurred;
Her soul is in God's will;
Her baby by heaven blessed;
For she will join them soon;
She will become a ghostly slave;
Working by light of the moon;
Burying another unfortunate mother;
She screams for she is cursed;
And now other's fate is also sewn;
Ghostly eyes filled with tears cannot burst;
She looks up at the heavens in the sky;
Her words desperate for ears;
She has done nothing wrong for this damnation;
Wings sprout off all the banshee's tears;
No longer shall banshee's pout.
Ghosts with children's faces weep;
Their heads on the picketed fence;
Their eyes open, refusing to sleep;
In this haunt an individual's sense;
They cry for their lives have been taken;
Taken from a demon with human flesh;
And now their souls have awaken;
They smell vengeance as it is fresh;
The building lay in ruin, but they still stand;
Awaiting the bell that never rung;
Refusing to cross into the promised land;
For it was a waste of life so young;
They search for their parents who've passed;
But they cannot leave the school ground;
They cry, but their puddles of tears do not last;
Yet in their short lasted tears, many have drowned;
They wash the blood off the fence with tears;
The blood washes out into Hell's river;
Where the murderer will swim in his own fears;
And forever these ghosts in his soul will be a sliver.
All poetry and music is copyrighted material, poetry copyrights are owned by Jonathan Vargason and music copyrights are owned by James Dibble
