Red

The drums, the drums, the drums down in the deep
Echoing whenever our noise ceases
Threatening the peace that we would keep
Disturbing it and tearing it to pieces
With sharp stacatto arhythmatic beats
Thrown hurlyburly upward at our minds;
Our own light music loops us and repeats
Desperately onward, but at last it finds
The drums cannot be stopped. They will still come
And all will be devoured in their wake.
Silence is precious, as the beating drum
Tests just how much our weary souls can take
And with each rap we feel the coming doom
As in our very sleep the drumbeats loom.