They come marching . . . The night before an exam, interview, festival or celebration.
They call the visit a mere chance
With no crooked intentions.
In human clothes when they come
They trade on my pains.
A machine of exchange they run,
To the netherworlds beyond my gains.
Every pain on my nerve grows their ego-filled pleasures.
Cruel, sadistic stones they are.
Never know a human child!
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
They come marching . . . The night before an exam, interview, festival or celebration.
They call the visit a mere chance
With no crooked intentions.
In human clothes when they come
They trade on my pains.
A machine of exchange they run,
To the netherworlds beyond my gains.
Every pain on my nerve grows their ego-filled pleasures.
Cruel, sadistic stones they are.
Never know a human child!
