The song that children sing.

Children sing words whose meaning is unspoken. Adults go to work without noticing. That no one is watching what the children sang in the afternoon. Maybe, maybe they are not living, they are not living in the moon. As their song sang, what no one dare to say, that the world is getting crazy, and the end is really near. Something about, something about our damn heads. That the children have noticed, and we haven't, yet. We wake up, wishing to fall asleep. We enslave us to work only to be able to be free. We hate the bees because they sting but only if we, try to make them flee. Oh, those little children, that they sing that damn song. Maybe they are right, and we so damn wrong. Maybe this doesn't have any sense, any sense at all. Maybe we try not to cry, but that make us cry more. And as the children sing, and adults refuse to pay atention. There goes our life, living without detention.