Bones Like Paper Planes Walk her into the room Shackle her wrists in old iron chains Cover her head in water Tear off her clothes Kneel her before the alter Force her to pray To an imaginary conscience Mention not her name But her race Her religion And her family crumbles I hear Tiananmen Square Is kind of quiet these days Push drugs into her veins Pull the truth out of her lungs She catches a glimpse Of an eagle Through the stained glass windows A tear rips through her left eye And one hundred and eighty seven soldiers Salute to their country heartlessly Bones like paper planes Skulls containing beautiful brains All go to waste When mushroom clouds engulf cities Roughly count the bodies Build a stone pillar Carve their names Because somehow that helps Even stone crumbles. -Emile