The hills find peace Locked armed guard posts Safe from the screams Of the children born as ghosts Gates guns and alarms Shape the calm of the dawn Peering down into the basin Where death lives on Where young run foaming at the mouth with hate Where burning batons beat the freezing who shake Under the toxic sunsets they dine and toast Their walls deny the terror faced by the children Born as ghosts
Born as ghosts
One book and forty ghosts Stuffed in a room The school as a tomb Where home is a wasteland Taste the razor wire And thought is locked in the womb The tales that tear at the myth of the dream A suffering that shocks the lives off the screen
