One bit of hope an exuberant child sees, is but a glimpse of hope for humanity.
As small as the child’s eyes can see, their perception delves far deeper than you and me.

This glimmer of sunshine in a dreary nightmare of chaos calms the air,
Settles it and weakens the front. The waves of fury reach a wall, a reef, an ounce of care.

Atomic winter, blistering summer, augmented artificial blender, clouds the simple view of glass,
Distortion fills lungs, no longer breathing oxygen, but poison, until the child sings their song of bypass.

Such a note they reach, can only breach the highest chords of heavenly tune, stretching to high noon.
Clouds depart, wind blows not but a leaf off the ground, and all over this resounding sound is soon
heard.
Sweeping away the devilish waves of fury, the legions of mindless drones trapped in oblivion.
The hearts of aching, frozen souls thaws with incomparable ease in this new dominion.

Hope is alive, it cries out at the top of the lungs of the ambitious,
Even in the darkest days, the most trial some haze, the most oblivious gaze,

The song of the child will break the links of these iron clad chains of malice and set you free.