Knock. Knock.
Who's there?
Your bad side.
The bullies might as well be like Pinocchio,
puppets of wood unable to feel any moods.
Of their own, or someone else's.
Someone else's moan.
They're jealous
but they don't tell them, they don't tell us.
The flesh, the victims, have eyes' rain
continously pouring,
and spirits that are never soaring.
We say this, we say that.
We tip off our hat, to the heroes
but never to the criminals, the zeroes.
I don't want to just say cheerio.
Let me knock on the wood
of these puppets, these 'Pinocchios'.
Let me wake them up,
to be introduced to reality's foot
so as to cheer the victims up.
Let me show them mood,
so they'll be more than wood.
Let us.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Your conscience.
~
