I Think They Protest Too Much

They sing songs to all the children

Of birds and bees

And cigarette trees,

they give them the keys to the safest of places,

But changed the locks when trouble drew near,

And they didn't even leave the porch light on.

For a thousand years the people protested,

But the children didn't know,

That one day they'd grow up to care about,

The things they now, knew not of.

They sing songs to all the children,

About everything under the sun,

And when they cancer was done they told them to get by,

To lift their eyes to the sun, and fly,

With waxed wings, into their own oblivion,

But heed not they counseled,

For beneath them a trampoline with no springs awaited to break them in fall.

For a thousand years the people protested,

In languages were not their own,

They had come accustomed to the ways of their neighbors,

And after spying in so long in bathroom windows,

Were too embarassed to be foun out.

They sing songs to all the children,

Those that they have not shaken into nothing,

And those that survive are forced to contrive a way of breathing that they,

That they are not accusomed too.

For a thousand years the people protested,

And god knows they'll protest everything else for a thousand more.