The light looks different after the war.
I cannot remember your face,
but your silhouette remains a part of me.
And still I sit upon this tree,
where our innocence used to run free.
Distant in the horizons, the flames rise.
We've mistaken the fire for sunrise for far too long.
Walking through the night with a cataract on our eyes.
We can't see the hues mixing in the darkening skies.
Perceptions distorted by reality, and yet I am guilty.