The obsession with light
Kills the dark
Which isn't usually bad.

The suppression of nights
Kills the spark
Which can only be seen in red.

The smiles, the clothes
Covered, not considered

The turns they taught
Are false, changed with scissors.

They wish a change
They wanna kill our culture
They wish I'd stay quiet
Under thier command
Forever.

Our happiness
Looks like an offense for them
Our sadness
Is thier victory.
...