“People are sad,
Angry and mad.
Why they pretend?
When I’ll be forgotten.
I am not alone,
Abducted and torn.
Why they forget?
Little angels in cotton.
Their hearts aren’t red,
Rather, dark and dead.
Why can’t they see?
Dead leaves, like in autumn.
My villains would be spared,
Though, tormented and scared.
But why do they bother?
When the whole is just rotten.
Give me some weeks,
They’ll hear other shrieks,
New headlines, new freaks
And I’ll be forgotten…”
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