February 11, 2013
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A gun into a child’s life
this is your food
this is your wife
These bullets, they are dreams
you’ll see
The monsters, here they come.

Strap a gun onto a child
Tiny hands and tiny fires
Rounds and round and round they go
Make the other side believe
that we are only playing war
Break the lock and break the door
Wooden spikes and wooden swords
The monsters, here they come.

Broken little broken arms
Line the shot and line the tar
The dominoes are meant to fall
see the spot and then you pull
We are only playing dolls
We are only paying dolls
The monsters, here they come.

We are on a different team
We are blue and they are green
Color war, it has to mean
the monsters, here they come

For we are on a different team
through the meadow, cross the stream
our colors run to brown and red
our friends have dreams inside their heads
The sky is blue, the ground is green
and we are red and inbetween

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