The Red Handed
prehistoric turtlesaurus
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As I recall, your tolerance was small
And we were all so-called criminals
Before we grew to recognize the truth
The winters left me cold and bitter
Longing for the sun
The spring provided glimpses into lives not yet begun
We were once the future and the last hope
Taking up what they claim was a throne
Standing at the pinnacle with arms drawn
Unaware of consequences grown
Lead us to ruins, lead us to Hell
Fate became a sick and twisted game, played with shame
And unfamiliar pain
The summers dried up all the blood we shed for sacrifice
The fall concealed the evidence and flesh we left behind