Sarah Nyhan

Before now, in the other years, the friendly years. When there were no fears. When there were no tears. When life was easy and all cheesy. We had fun. Played in the sun. Unaware of any real scare. Of women that could hurt us. Of men who could kill us. We only saw angels. We only knew angels. Put them up in their towers surrounded by flowers. But then the storm came. Things weren’t the same. No more umbrellas to protect from bad fellas.

August 14, 1997:
Before now, in the other years, the friendly years. When there were no fears. When there were no tears. When life was easy and all cheesy. We had fun. Played in the sun. Unaware of any real scare. Of women that could hurt us. Of men who could kill us. We only saw angels. We only knew angels. Put them up in their towers surrounded by flowers. But then the storm came. Things weren’t the same. No more umbrellas to protect from bad fellas.

Before now, in the other years, the friendly years, when there were no fears, when there were no tears, when life was easy and all cheesy, we had fun. Played in the sun. Unaware of any real scare. Of women that could hurt us, of men who could kill us. We only saw angels. We only knew angels. Put them up in their towers surrounded by flowers. But then the storm came. Things weren’t the same. No more umbrellas to protect from bad fellas.