A Tale of Woe
The reason silence will never reign is that the noise in the heart is rain, music is on the myriad canopies of an array of a cast of nations, yes, we refuse to be broken, we rise up for they who rise, for the this tune is overpowering, 'tis the song of pure freedom; it takes the teardrop in the wide open eyes of a child whose sorrowful, upturned face stares at me in a questioning gaze, a face unimpressed by the dazzle of the rising of the tottering phase of leaders whose lack of clout does amaze: I hear the voices in the crowd, "O' Ichabod!" I hear the cries of the desperate, "O' Ichabod!" The voices are strong, tho' some are hushed, but the resolve in them will not be crushed; "No! Ichabod! No Ichabod!" Ichabod must not be born tonight for in the distance I see the light, of a presence that will rise to rule this land - this land that the just will rule. (gsk) © Ichabod ( Hebrew : אִיכָבוֹד ʼīyḵāḇōḏ , – without glory , o...