Down the street, and round the bend,
Close to my, at the River's End:
Where the shadows cover up the light,
And nothing is ever decent.
Inside there are boxes and people live in them,
They scream and fuss from their solitary confinement.
And the watchers, they beat them to death,
And there is no light inside them.
Sometimes they catch me sitting outside
Watching them laugh and watching them cry.
They kind of just stare right through me
And sometimes I wonder if they're even alive.
Some of the children have no eyes
But somehow they see right through the doctor's lies.
And when I hear the screams grow louder,
I mourn for their demise.
