Thought it must have been an airplane gliding too low, overhead.

This sound that shook the walls and rocked my lonely bed.

But it was just the echo of your breaking heart,

I had been fighting, steady trying not to hear.

Until you let it out, and played it back into the atmosphere.

Acid rain, the rooftops stained with splattered tears.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the soulless rider on her pallid horse?

You were famine, you were plague, and you were war.

You transformed these verdant hills into a crater.

The orchards set aflame, within the depths of profane betrayal.

But we’re not worried, nobody’s hurting 

Over you.

We’re still going, we’ll keep growing,

 After you.

And we’ll be back in bloom so very soon.

We don’t need your problems, over here.

So take your broken heart and tie it to a red balloon,

Let that mother fly into the atmosphere.

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