Underground_Network
August 2nd, 2009, 11:32 AM
A parade on Concord Hill,
Some call it Conquered Hill,
Took place just after three o'clock,
The day some call "The Great Spill."
While they call it a spill,
When no liquid was involved,
Is truthfully beyond me,
But it makes some sense...
On May the 1st of a year unknown,
An army from a land, unknown,
Came with tanks and planes and guns,
Lots and lots and lots of guns,
Climbed up Concord Hill.
But Concord Hill was not a hill,
It was a small town,
Full of lively people,
People small and round.
These people always smiled,
The town was truly small,
Each house was painted white and brown,
Each house had two floors and around
Each house was a white picket fence.
Every day was a sunny day,
Except for May the 1st,
When rain poured down like crazy,
Possibly signifying the worst?
A faction from somewhere,
Over that vast rainbow
That we call the earth,
Emerged from the darkness
And shouted till they were heard:
The smiles on the small, round people
That called Concord Hill their home,
Faded and dissipated until they were completely gone.
The men in black and white camouflage,
With futuristic rifles and large black monocle-type scopes
Over their right eyes, shouted synchronized
That they would "blow the denizens minds."
The citizens on Concord Hill were lost,
Very lost at sea, a vast ocean was coming toward them,
And they had nowhere to flea.
Waves of black and white and more black,
And eventually a reddish white,
A flash so bright it makes the sun
Seem like a small night light.
With each flash of reddish white,
A 'denizen' went down,
And truthfully I don't even think
They had time to make a sound.
The tanks were black,
And they plowed on through,
Crushing children and mothers too,
Firing away with horrid shells,
Crushing hopes, dreams, and skulls.
The town was blown to pieces
And the parade it kept on going,
The time at this point was three fifteen,
Just fifteen minutes after the beginning,
And already fifty were dead.
All fifty were simple folk,
Just people of Concord Hill,
And the population of said town,
Is just three hundred twenty four.
And of those fifty, from what I hear,
Thirty-three were kids, and of the
Other twenty-seven, twenty-three were women.
And well the parade was far from over,
For another few hours it raged,
They marched and marched up Concord Hill,
A straight and narrow march,
And underneath their boots they felt
The crunching of small bones.
When they left the town was red,
The population had been drained
From three-hundred plus to zero.
No one thanked the black-white soldiers
For the job they did on the town,
No one gave them any gifts
Or even patted them on the back.
No one ever even found out,
Because Concord Hill's not real,
And the soldiers in black-white armor,
Oh they cannot feel...
They're not human, humans have emotions,
What kind of humans would kill
Innocent people,
Women and children,
Just for the sake of it?
What kind of humans
Would firebomb a town of innocents,
Drop an atomic bomb on a town of innocents,
Rape and pillage a city of innocents,
Destroy the hopes and dream of millions
Of innocents?
Those people can't be human,
They must be fictional...
Like the parade on Concord Hill...
But then again,
I can still see,
The red in front my eyes,
And I can hear
The faded screams
Of a child in distress,
Still ringing in my ears.
Some call it Conquered Hill,
Took place just after three o'clock,
The day some call "The Great Spill."
While they call it a spill,
When no liquid was involved,
Is truthfully beyond me,
But it makes some sense...
On May the 1st of a year unknown,
An army from a land, unknown,
Came with tanks and planes and guns,
Lots and lots and lots of guns,
Climbed up Concord Hill.
But Concord Hill was not a hill,
It was a small town,
Full of lively people,
People small and round.
These people always smiled,
The town was truly small,
Each house was painted white and brown,
Each house had two floors and around
Each house was a white picket fence.
Every day was a sunny day,
Except for May the 1st,
When rain poured down like crazy,
Possibly signifying the worst?
A faction from somewhere,
Over that vast rainbow
That we call the earth,
Emerged from the darkness
And shouted till they were heard:
The smiles on the small, round people
That called Concord Hill their home,
Faded and dissipated until they were completely gone.
The men in black and white camouflage,
With futuristic rifles and large black monocle-type scopes
Over their right eyes, shouted synchronized
That they would "blow the denizens minds."
The citizens on Concord Hill were lost,
Very lost at sea, a vast ocean was coming toward them,
And they had nowhere to flea.
Waves of black and white and more black,
And eventually a reddish white,
A flash so bright it makes the sun
Seem like a small night light.
With each flash of reddish white,
A 'denizen' went down,
And truthfully I don't even think
They had time to make a sound.
The tanks were black,
And they plowed on through,
Crushing children and mothers too,
Firing away with horrid shells,
Crushing hopes, dreams, and skulls.
The town was blown to pieces
And the parade it kept on going,
The time at this point was three fifteen,
Just fifteen minutes after the beginning,
And already fifty were dead.
All fifty were simple folk,
Just people of Concord Hill,
And the population of said town,
Is just three hundred twenty four.
And of those fifty, from what I hear,
Thirty-three were kids, and of the
Other twenty-seven, twenty-three were women.
And well the parade was far from over,
For another few hours it raged,
They marched and marched up Concord Hill,
A straight and narrow march,
And underneath their boots they felt
The crunching of small bones.
When they left the town was red,
The population had been drained
From three-hundred plus to zero.
No one thanked the black-white soldiers
For the job they did on the town,
No one gave them any gifts
Or even patted them on the back.
No one ever even found out,
Because Concord Hill's not real,
And the soldiers in black-white armor,
Oh they cannot feel...
They're not human, humans have emotions,
What kind of humans would kill
Innocent people,
Women and children,
Just for the sake of it?
What kind of humans
Would firebomb a town of innocents,
Drop an atomic bomb on a town of innocents,
Rape and pillage a city of innocents,
Destroy the hopes and dream of millions
Of innocents?
Those people can't be human,
They must be fictional...
Like the parade on Concord Hill...
But then again,
I can still see,
The red in front my eyes,
And I can hear
The faded screams
Of a child in distress,
Still ringing in my ears.