It feels like locust dust, falling from our mouths,
Words of spindling terror that spill down our bodies to land on their heads,
Because we are teaching their infant souls to feel hate
A weapon of heat and radical confusion that blasts through gossamer bone
Builds sky high fences that keep them bound to the grasses we have grown
But they don't know, they don't know why,
Those fence posts are sunk so deep into one place,
Or why they have learned to throw stones and stay close to what they know.
Because they watch us, with thirsty eyes,
Drinking up our crimes likes its truth.
They have learned not to feel the skin that bruises with each injustice,
They have learned not to feel the way love can only expand inside their lungs
And how those lungs can lift them up, if only they knew how.
We are teaching their infant souls of demons and senseless rules that serve only to confine them,
A pasture of hate that is so familiar it feels safe,
And few will be brave enough to hold their glass bottle