Beasts of the Wild

Children lying prostrate on the floor

Overworked and under-born

And on the sabbath every week

You come alive and watch them bleed

Watch them weep into the sea

Streaming colors laced with dreams

Shaking their spirits to the core

Like lions prowling at the door;

Beasts of the wild.

 

Children all alone inside their beds

With monsters scratching at their heads

And all their dreams are filled with fog

'Cause all their mothers' songs were wrong

And every father bought their love

With every ounce of broken bone

But now the clouds are turning red

And every lamb will soon be dead;

Beasts of the wild.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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