Whispers of change tickle my ear
Baiting me out of my home, my heart
Deep oppression can’t bring fear
To a place where hopelessness was there from the start
Run to the forest, find mother
A doe leans over her, muzzle a bloody mess
Charge with guns, kill father
Hear his dead heart beat less and less
Children dance, voices filled with dark laughter
Ground covered in a thick soup of red distress
Little arms strain to carry dead weight after
I go to a funeral, see father in a suit, mother in a dress
We burn their bodies and throw in our guns
We walk away with evil thick in our little lungs
In unison, we look at the sky and see things that aren’t there
We speak deadly words that do not belong to us, none with care
“I run this place b****. Come get some.”
We walk away with smiles on our faces
Young soldiers of a dreadful army:
Satan’s Generation