Orchestratedly killing children, what kind of child were you?
Shoot shoot with no feeling, see how you’ll have no future, sucker…

You think that you’ve marred their grave,
But the child’s cloud escapes…

You’re not even a part of the picture -
Only a void for the paintings that will stay to show how great they are and how sick you were…

You’ve got no place, no room, no virtue,
So more fool you…
You’re not a conductor of any orchestra -

You’re just a fraying lace in an old man’s shoe
Yet look how young you are - or could have been…

I know you’re not one for feeling anything but you’ve got to admit; the deafening din of children’s wailing light and death’s scythe keeping you secretly afraid all night is gonna be hard to remove…

The missile finds the child,
And they do nothing but walk by…
The missile finds the child but they don their disguise…

The foetus finds the ground,
But there’s no one around
At least no one willing to care…

The missile finds the child,
But we’re more concerned about saying the wrong thing to each other than saying ‘I love you…’

The missile finds the child, but we’re destitute and fear feeling…

The missile finds the child, but we’re black water frozen,
Our mechanisms broken,
Our robots erred;

And this whole slave ship design - to crush all of our senses, is ended - expended -

All that’s left is a haunted, weeping child that would even forgive you for your horrors,
But you would rather die than see your true reflection in those waters…

Comfortable with the unspeakable
Obnoxious unconfrontational
Augmented stolen-perch ******,

Agel, with no ‘n’ for nurture, eyes for plundered treasure
Your age isn’t elegant
Eat the ****** fruit whole with the pips, as old children are murdered, opal fires fixed in feathers...

**** journalists <
**** truth-seeking avidity, inquisitiveness, open-mindedness, awareness >
**** children.