Around we go again,
around this ancient dance with plague,
and though we have no rose
blotches to mark our perfect skin
we still dance the dance of innocence
and tell ourselves and kids
that all is right as rain today
because we cannot face the facts
that nothing has ever been right
with children circling the drain of death.
For generations vast
we hadn’t the knowledge to ease our pain
or make sense of our falling children’s cries
being recorded as nursery rhymes.
In the musical fall of innocence we go
around the drain again,
beat down by life and its immortal friend,
and not even the images of children
dancing around the roses will let us forget
a history of pain and death
so sick we had to hide it from the kids.