You took them away
A bag on their head
Their whites turned to gray
Our eyes turned to red
Our stars in the sky
Did naught to deserve
This treacherous lie
Of peaceful reserve.
Where you will extort
Our longing to find
A land not for sport
But for all of our kind
You burn them and blast
The dream that we had
It's all in the past
And we have gone mad.
Stars
© Copyright: Триумвират, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115031209589
Свидетельство о публикации №115031209589
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