The Wolves

The walls will cry when they hear what we’ve done.
The wolves can’t hunt when the sheep have none.
The bells wont chime and the music wont play.
We wasted our lives on a poor yesterday.

The dancers wont dance and the singers wont sing.
God’s son is born, but we’ve nothing to bring.
The dead and the buried, they mourn for us all.
This life we have made is worth nothing at all.

Look through the window, behind your closed door.
Dream of tomorrow without being poor.
Work all your hours and spend all your pay.
Dream of a horrible, desolate day.

Time has forgotten the laws of the land.
We have forgotten to hold out our hand.
The mystery passes; the wisdom revolts.
The gate has been locked with some sixty tight bolts.

Remember the days when we’d lie in the sun?
Remembering laughter and happiness; fun.
Remember the wolves; how they ran in their packs?
Remember a world without violent attacks?

How far have we come? Can we look on-
To a future that only wills us to be wrong?
Come find me a camera, I’ll mark this for time.
For we can’t find the way to look back and rewind.

This life is wasted on us.
Let the wolves come and feed on our trust.

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