Candles Lit Inside the Empty Pane

Who could think that thunder can be stolen fast?
Forever bottled, sold, as all things that pass?
The politician bleeds upon the floor
Living like a soldier without war
His life is flashing on the silver screen
Screaming all along the Aventine

Should not all who speak be made to think?
Do not all who gamble surely take a drink?
The undertaker dreams of greater things
Scrambling in the presence of the kings
As he shovels dirt into the hole
Where your body lays without a soul

Are the sins of others our burden to bear?
Sitting in a prison cell with graying hair?
The warden breaks the hands of the thief
Who promises to turn another leaf
Upon the tree of life, he's crucified
And only the old warden knows he's died