Oh These Miserous Days: A Lament For The Modern Child

A black and burning forrest
Leaves phantoms on your eye:
The marching of the Bullywolves
Beneath an angry sky

They march and then they march again
Like clockwork, like the tide
They have no cause, no point of view
They represent no side

Think of rest, of better days
For the Bullywolves are close
A bitter pill for troubled times
A blind and lethal dose