What will they do when they wake up,

From their dreams of fire red?

When they see their blood-stained hands,

When they see the ash all around,

Of the burnt home that used to house us all?


That rallying cry, that self-righteous anger,

The hurt that fueled their rage—

Will it still protect them?

From the reality of the nightmare they have wrought?


In their quieter moments,

Will they be able to face themselves?

Could they smile at the mirror when they see themselves?

How will they live with themselves,

Now that they are awake?


Or will they never wake at all?

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