When we were young children, monsters lived under our beds. They hid in our closets and lived in dark places; but when we got older they lived in our world. Instead of being fiction they became real.
As a small child waiting under the covers waiting for fate to be.
When we close our eyes we hear the tiptoes of jealousy and hatred. Creaking on the staircase. One step. Two steps. Three steps and more.
When we look in long alleyways we see lost and pain. Blood and scars too much to heal.
Death and murder too many to count.
When we look on the streets we feel regret and neglect. From the blank faces who walks day in and day out.
When we were young children, monsters lived under our beds, inside our closets and shadows of night, but when we got older they lived in the world.
On streets, alleyways and creaks on the staircase. Full of misery and hurtful memories.
Why can't there be light, happiness and peace ?
For that's the only way for the monsters to disappear. The ones that never go away.
For love and joy to spread to every corner of the earth.
Every boy and girl seeing life brightly without the dullness.
'Cause when we were young children monsters were frightening enough, but when we got older they become closer than we thought.
