I wish that I'd known you before the war
Before you earned the scars that I know you for
I wonder what you dreamed of as you scrubbed their kitchen floors
I see your face in every public square
Where gallows hang and smoke fills the air
There was a time I could have loved you there
Then they called your name, you said "I'll see you in a hundred years"
And last night I dreamt of murdering a king
Cut into the roots of everything
Power doesn't retire and it doesn't resign
Kings lose their heads, they lose their minds
Last night I swore I saw you through the trees
I see your name every now and then
Beneath a headline or painted on a subway train
I think I finally understand what you meant when one night I asked you why you loved the war
When hope is gone and we don't know what we're fighting for
You said, "Life is a battle, love is a chore, and the weavers of the dream are the ones who win the war.”
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