They raised their flags on either side,
One draped in colours and in pride
But not the kind that lifts the soul,
The kind that builds a bullet hole.
One preached love, with fists held high,
Yet damned the ones who would not try
To speak the code or wear the face
That fit within their sacred space.
This other prayed with folded hands,
Behind white doors in shuttered lands,
Where sermons burned but gave no warmth,
Where grace was locked within the storm.
I stood between them, in the ash,
No holy book, no glitter flash.
They asked which side I must belong,
As if the question wasn’t wrong.
I didn’t march beneath their lights,
The dead left bodies on either sides
Instead, I found a different sound
A funeral beat, a battleground.
The silent band came marching through,
With eyes like mine and fractured truths.
Not saints, nor stars, but misfit ghosts,
The ones both sides would fear the most.
Drums of sorrow, horns of rage,
An anthem for the out-of-cage.
And in their song, I felt my name
Not one of theirs, but just the same.
So let them chant and let them cheer,
I’ll wear my black and disappear.
Not into silence, not to fade
But marching proud in the Black Parade.
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