Echoes and us
In these sewers
No one else can hear
We’re still singing
We’re still writing our signatures on walls
Laughing as if we have a cause
Cherished by the upper walkers
They put us down but botched our slaughter.
–
Dirty discarded flutes still play
Jumping around while we say
This may be our home and grave
Nevertheless, we won’t behave
Silence ignored and refused
Booted below we wouldn’t follow the news
Daylight through covers
Underground poets and musicians will recover
All juicy fruit lies spread like jam
Discarded instruments still play and we are a band.
