waiting for the end

Silence is beautiful in the night
when you hear the frogs croaking their tune for the moon
In the night the wild bests ride
I can hear all the buried dead men alive
As they holler their stories far and wide
Of tales of hardships and men who had it hard
Their stories read long and slow like the torture that was inflicted
with the hands of those well equipped to deal it out and they still live today
The dead men buried alive are still waiting
for it all to end in the midst of shackles and blood
As their skin is peeled back over their eyes
they still feel it's barrage of fists and knives
Bruises and cuts opened and bled more with a red that never ends
Vibrant as it is cutthroat and beautiful
wondering when it will end
they were put in cold wooden boxes for the wealth they never gained
I can hear them cry and wail all night
Telling their stories and waiting for the end