A Tiring Tune

srizals

Whatever do I have to do?
To save the fools dancing to the tune
Of a kind piper that plays an alluring tune
Calling the tranced greedy little rats to their doom
Drowning together in the mentality of the herd

Oh, whatever do I have to do?
To wake the daydreaming 14 year old who
Reads a bedtime story or two
And thinks to himself or herself, or his selfish self, I'm the wisest of the fools

Oh, whatever do I have to do?
When the lords ask the ordinary to march, fight and die
To defend their stature of glory
To defend their whimsy gory
To bleed and to suffer in fear and agony


Far, far away from the eyes of the caring noble lords
Far, far away from the ears of the handsome noble lords

Can't you see, can't you see?
It's always the peasants that do the dying
It's always the peasants that do the suffering
Can't a smart 14 year old person see that too?
Can't that  14 year old person for once, be a smart little fool?