Tell me where to turn.
Tell me where to be different.
Un-knife the knives.
Take back the barren bats banging on a coercive black tar ground.
Let me, us, believe, this is hatred.
Hatred cannot surrender until it is unearthed, out in the open and left for the restless to kick around.
Kick around, back to centuries ago.
To a place where the ignorant refuse to grow.