Quiet, carefully, as we walk down,

The voice in our heads sing round and round.

Our knife, safe and silver behind our back.

Ready to jump in for an attack.

The gun turns,

Our throats burn.

In denial,

Of the trial.

Claws of iron, ripping into cloth.

Smashing dishes and tipping over broth.

Intelligence is a key for survival,

It's that, or die without a revival.

So here we are, safe but sorry;

There's nothing we can do except worry.

Here I am a survivor.