From jump-rope to jacks and other toys
A cute companion was our only friend.
We quickly grew from naive girls and boys
Now it tis ourselves who must now defend.
The crying girl lies on the moist grass
Her perpretraitors' desires obtained.
Is this where we're heading alas?
From between her legs, her dress is stained.
These innocently horrible images from our past
Dance and tease us like a faint dream.
Is this our future, as long last?
We've never waken up, or so it seems.
With the blood of the Martyr
And the bones of the Dead
Shall we make the ink to write our charter
And line the long road ahead.
All the hatred given so graciously
Given from people so far and high.
Their mark, impacted us for eternity
But, we all have a day on which we die.
Wearing the blood-dyed clothing we found
La Renaissance is near.
Having our feet now planted firmly on the ground
The Reformation is here.
We stand here, before the threshhold of a new door.
May Their shadows blanket us, nevermore!
The charter is not written in stone. The supreme chancellor has final say in every matter.
Copyright 2000 Medusa-Molly Productions©
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