Self-Infliction.

Self-Infliction 


Brave little souls,

Youth...

Wicked smiles,

And their clambering hands,

Devilish, be the lot.

They are, quick minded.

They take,

And they coo.

They make your guilted heart, goo.

They are the imps,

Seen as just cute...chimps,

Of our world.

The core of the mind,

Taken for granted.

There for, a child.

They tinker and linger,

For the push to grow...

To fall into this "helpful society"-aimed, flow.

Past the path of ignorance,

And the devilish acts...

To one of not so much, disgrace.

For the good of the lot,

We must make the beast...

Feast...

On other children,

We must make the, untamed...

Into something of a human.

We make the children brush their teeth,

With the guts and glory over the enemy.

We force feed, lies...

To our children...

About happy, masked figures.

And only as they get bigger...

Will they learn,

Right from wrong.

Learn to behave,

When we here that gong.

Lassie bites back,

As a matter of fact.

The children rebel,

And spit the medicine,

Back into the eyes,

Of the devil.

Of father.

Of mother.

Of what we grow into,

What we feed on.

There is no cure for the beast that lies within...

We create,


We are,

Self-devouring, voodoo dolls.