Blood Smirk Delight.

Blades or guns, A life comes to an end, Red, still the favourite colour, Spilled on soil like it was cheap. If only tears could wash them, But we've grown too weak to shed them. Our bellies have sung the worst anthem, Our lips have cursed the kingdom. Birds whispered, but we didn’t stop. What we crave is a chance at freedom, Not to be treated like slaves in an equal-rights state. For you to wear our shoes and see we’ve been hurting, For you to heed a child's right to smile without worries, A youth’s chance to live freely, not labeled worthless. If a life must end for a chance at freedom, Then red is still the favourite color.