locked in their world of close circuit TV
reality life and crude imagery
far away from the streets of their play liberty
the jingles they play and the media tells lies
whilst their childhood is lost in their sadness and smiles
the thunder it roared and the prophets foretold
of days yet to be when childhood grew old
there were limbs on the trees and fields left to roam
but the candle was dimmed and their visions where closed
their masters and kinfolk guided their dreams
with take away foods and horrific loud screams
there was food on the table and news on the spree
where doctrines and war crimes paraded for thee
the masters of visions crafted their dreams
with false words and logic no room for ice cream
the songs and the rhymes were lost in the maze
of corrupted lost childhoods in the latest whizz craze
the songsters were singing the same dulcet tones
with bleached hair and promises wrapped up in gold
the streets they were quiet no sounds of child's play
another dream over at the end of the day
whilst a comic gave rant and a poet he prayed
for a childhood forsaken and a vision waylaid