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The Drummer Boy Calls!
I'm not afraid to die;
althought I know nothing of it,
but I fear this world
that no longer hums,
harmoniously,
but beats like a drum
in the distance,
calling for war.
It echos through the houses,
and good men sit
restlessly with peace
as the drummer boy plays:
rat-te-ta-tat, rat-te-ta-tat.
The ears of silent savages perk,
as they thurst for the blood of their ilk.
All sense has gone:
coffee jars have alarms,
virtual prostitution is where it's at,
pimps are throned like kings
and the world is in a (s)Tate.
Children cry in the burning heat,
and mothers fan away fears
soon to be tears of war
that refuse to be cooled.
As "poverty creeps upon us all,
like a vagobond,"
revolution is remembered
in the drummer boy's calls:
RAT-TE-TA-TAT, RAT-TE-TA-TAT.
© Ernist Lost-his-way
althought I know nothing of it,
but I fear this world
that no longer hums,
harmoniously,
but beats like a drum
in the distance,
calling for war.
It echos through the houses,
and good men sit
restlessly with peace
as the drummer boy plays:
rat-te-ta-tat, rat-te-ta-tat.
The ears of silent savages perk,
as they thurst for the blood of their ilk.
All sense has gone:
coffee jars have alarms,
virtual prostitution is where it's at,
pimps are throned like kings
and the world is in a (s)Tate.
Children cry in the burning heat,
and mothers fan away fears
soon to be tears of war
that refuse to be cooled.
As "poverty creeps upon us all,
like a vagobond,"
revolution is remembered
in the drummer boy's calls:
RAT-TE-TA-TAT, RAT-TE-TA-TAT.
© Ernist Lost-his-way
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