Mothers and fathers of this town.
Mothers and fathers of this town,please, gather around.
Listen to what I have to say
and learn from this horrible day.
Your children have been murdered, yes.
Their bodies lie in bloody mess.
They tried to tell you a thing or two,
about the things they had to do.
Noone had the time, oh no.
Noone saw the coalblack crow.
Noone believed that children saw truth.
Noone ever believe in beautiful youth.
A wind blew dark and cold.
A wayfarer, crooked and old.
Told the youngsters of beauty, so pretty and fine.
Lured the children into insanity mind.
Grown-ups haven't got the time.
Only got time to make their dime.
The signs of death they failed to see.
You never listen to me.
The children searched for wayfarer cave,
where beauty would wait, perfect and brave.
But beauty were nowhere to be found,
and the youngsters were far from safe and sound.
When beauty has gone lost,
the price is high, the cost.
Insanity lures, ill will.
And the rest is death, the kill.
The boy that longed the most for beauty sweet
would give the others a terrible treat.
When he realized that beauty was long since dead
he cut the throats, the children's heads.
And now he rests in gloomy mind.
He was a boy of fragile kind.
He stuck a knife through his sorrow heart.
He couldn't find a brave, new start.
Mothers and fathers of this town,
please, gather around.
Listen to what I have to say
and learn from this horrible day.
We search for beauty all day long.
But we find no beauty, it's all gone wrong.
We worship our things more than our souls.
We find ourselves in pitchblack holes.
Peace and quiet will be no more,
and all the children are dead, for sure.
So learn from this horrible, horrible day.
Please, listen to what I have to say!
Poetry by Daybreaker
Read 395 times
Written on 2005-12-25 at 14:36
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