251
I fear for the children Of men who’ve lost love I fear not the killing But fear the red blood For surely it pours From the wounds that were made On the common occurrence You call a bad day What can make it ill Is the way that you think That true happiness pours From material things You say you’ll love later For now you must slave To earn the false profits For soon comes a day When you will know happy And you will have time To enjoy what is left Of the thing we call life

















