These days are short,

As small as my thought;

The kids of this age are sad.

Their times are weak and its not their fault;

In this thick and all bleek air.

Their steps are small

and Vision hollow;

As hunger haunts,

their Broken morrow.

When they watch;

The rivers of tears and blood;

They fight to eat or be eaten,

To fill their dreams

of a full bellied night,

harder than all ones before.

In a cage build for them;

The fight is a test that they are taught,

that all must pass;

That this fight is the end
...