Home of the brave and free.

But it has never been so free for us.

For us, a child that has seen things beyond us, is a victim.

They have seen the ugly face of our nation.

We hide in our red white and blue that we fly straight and true.

But beneath our pride, we lug in our stride a classified clue that no one holds due.

We kill our women, we steal their children, we watch as they disappear and we stay

silenced.

But what we see for our friends and we, cowering in fear, We watch their blood hit the

ground and the only thing we can think about is ‘will this death make sound?’.

We don’t wonder if mother will miss us, and we don’t question if we will ever get

justice.

All we can think about is, will we take our death, silenced as we always have been.

Or will we scream, will we shout, for we are the children and all we are told is that we

pout, and as our eyes take their final goodbyes, and our weeps turn to sighs, we believe

that one day we will be happy.

In whatever is out there, we believe we will be reunited with our sweet bee.

But we have not died, we are alive, our screams still ring.

Don’t you hear our echoing fear?