The hills find peace
Locked armed guard posts
Safe from the screams
Of the children born as ghosts
Gates guns and alarms
Shape the calm of the dawn
Peering down into the basin
Where death lives on
When young run foaming at the mouth with hate
When burning batons beat the freezing who shake
Under the toxic sunsets they dine and toast
Of walls deny the terror faced
By the children born as ghosts
-Zach de la Rocha
No comments:
Post a Comment