Strong, they say, stand strong.
Stand independent, stand united;
be remembered, be used.
Struggle, until you can't struggle,
and when you can't struggle anymore
lie still, as you feel their feet trample over you.
Your spirit lays dying, your roots no longer cementing
you in place as you hang off the mountain of their making.
What struggle is worth it? How are they worth it?
They don't remember you.
They walk on by while you're bleeding,
only turning around and noticing you
when they need you to do something.
For them.
Of course for them. They ignore your calls, but when they need something
Oh! Canada, be a pal, would you?
Ice creeps over the landscape like your dying friendships,
it's fingers reaching out and killing those feelings
that still struggle to survive.
