The Miracle Hour


The things that I'd change would be minds and hearts
When the clock strikes the miracle hour
The peace that's been lost
At innumerable costs
Would return with unity once ours


If we weren't made to love, then we wouldn't have hearts
Or the torture we feel if our love falls apart


Do we not taste bile when considering slavery?
Our brothers and sisters held low by the lashes?
Do we not weep with anguish when reading the diary
Of Holocaust victims despised by the masses?


Those same minds, those same hearts then turn to the present
And somehow forget how to feel, how to think.
Through habit's contortion, we choose to see pleasure,
When what lies before them is crude, sharpened steel.


But one day, man will wake from this nightmare
For our plight may not be quite so dour
Our hearts and our minds
Will be opened, revised,
When the clock strikes the miracle hour


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