In times of youth when all was thought as love and smile.. curious in passion.. short of truth.. seeking a style..
Never had a doubt about as creatures true and wild.. who will tend my crying child when my death is filed..
Leaders are the breeders of the dreamsong and the fact.. must be good.. heart mind and bone.. know to not attack..
Carrying a fairy tale.. in fashion.. lacking style.. who will tend a crying child.. when such death is filed?..
Million thirty-three had not doctor law or nurse.. five years later.. 100 million.. life gift seems a curse..
Still the hated thief applauded carries self-styled sin.. against all common senses living gives.. just seeks to win..
Hide in politics you hated.. are you so surprised?.. self-seeking.. not looking peeking.. blind to life.. your eyes..
Stopping needed leaders in political snafu.. popping up with wars past times that carried your kind through..
Going against heart and mind.. cannot argue fate.. the evil that you promised you must do.. evil ones wait..
Take your petty nothing lie.. promised first and last.. take your sad confusions.. and stick them up your ass..
As those who say they did not.. waist deep in their own pee.. as our leader true that cares.. waits for you and me..
Stand we ever tested.. in blood mud tears we smile.. who will teach the children.. not to walk a lying mile..
who will tend my crying child.. when my death is filed..
‘the cry of one infant drowns out the roar of every cannon in every war.. for it is true.. pure.. with a need to be loved’..