How brave were the swaying few
Given over to the noose
For their passionate crime

For a cry of distress
That hails from the slums
In the forgone muck
Where the pitiful
Succumb to their rage

How desperate their eyes remained
In their farewell to light
For their purging of words
In the warm rays of dawn

The world has now frayed from silence
And it moves
To the rhythms of revolt