For all those children out there,
Who can only see the piles in front of them,
Drowning your minds with endless,
Lists of things to do,
Work to be done,
Goals to be accomplished,
By the age 47.

For all those kids out there,
Being robbed of your lives,
By work and institutions,
By parents and idols,
Who leech your minds dry.

To all those children,
Who look up towards the sky
From the well made of
Books and papers.
The faint light penetrating dim eyes,
Reminders of a distant memory
Of a lowly dismal life,
You thought you once had.

I call out to you, and you and you.
I call out to you, to break free from
The bondage of mental slavery.
To burn down the
Slaughterhouses of your creativity
To destroy the electric fences
Of your inhibitions.
Let your intuitions fly free,
Let your mind taste
The pure deliciousness
Of unadulterated existence.