R.C.8

I see hate floating down through the trees Landing smack upon a raging sea Madmen down below get stuck in oil I'll move before my blood starts to boil In case I see something I'll then regret ​Everybody loves a little baby Don't you tell me now that that's a lie But what I don't understand is why When that child grows up he's made to cry Couldn't they just sit and work it out now ​Words stream fast now that the plug has blown Like a lava flow in every home Words of wisdom nowhere can they be seen All I want to do is wipe the slate clean ​They can't seem to grasp the mystic rights That we're left, inherited each night On the pillow dance the ghosts of millions People that we thought long since departed Now, before my eyes, I see our deaths