Book of Flags

An iron gate surrounds you.
Stinking like rotting lace.
Your flags are waving dishonestly.
A pining plaything, so false so pleased. Your flags are aching.
To bloom from distant grouds, drowning out every sound.
Ten generations, ten-thousand nations redistributed like a lost and found.
We're keeping our flags at home.
(You better not, child.)
We're keeping our flags indoors.
(You better not, child.)
We're pulling them from our clothes.
(You better not, child.)
We're spending some time alone.
Your flag confessed.
(Like it or not, child.)
Its first confession.
(Like it or not, child.)
Calling out all your guests.
(Like it or not, child.)
Calling out all your children.
I knocked your system up.
I drank your system down.
I'm showing symptoms.
I fucked your system.
Look, now I'm pregnant with the whole damn town.
We wrapped your flag up.
(They never want to be alone.)
We wrapped your flag up tight
(They never want to be alone.)
We tucked your flag in.
(There's trouble in the house tonight.)
We kissed your flag goodnight.
I miss the precious sounds.
I miss the tender sounds.
I miss the softer sounds.
I miss the underground.