The silence of the lambs is unbearable.
They seem confused; more rather, mystified.
One would think that they're relishing on this gruesome anarchism,
This horrible chaos that is unveiling its dark intrigue.
Their fathers lost their battles with the wolves,
And having fallen down, their blood is being shed
And their blood is lustily being drunk by the thirsty jackals.
And now! Ah! Lament!
Their mommas
Are being sent on the way to the butcher's shop.
......
To kill or not the mockingbird?
This is absurd!
Remarked the boy.
Keeps me awake,
With the noise it makes,
Crying for love.
It's not a robin red.
Her voice is dread.
......
The silence of the lambs is unbearable.
They seem confused; more rather, mystified.
One would think that they're relishing on this gruesome anarchism,
This horrible chaos that is unveiling its dark intrigue.
Their fathers lost their battles with the wolves,
And having fallen down, their blood is being shed
And their blood is lustily being drunk by the thirsty jackals.
And now! Ah! Lament!
Their mommas
Are being sent on the way to the butcher's shop.
......
To kill or not the mockingbird?
This is absurd!
Remarked the boy.
Keeps me awake,
With the noise it makes,
Crying for love.
It's not a robin red.
Her voice is dread.
......