Put him in a preparatory institution
Which resembles an old warehouse
Where he struggles with retribution
Like a trapped feeble mouse
I am sure this will kill the child
Convert him into sweet shinny droid
And Scrape out his thumping heart
Cut his soul and paste a void
With a process that’s state of art
I am sure this will kill the child
Lock his creative cellar in advance
Where he’s kept in constant remand
Make sure he doesn’t sing or dance
And Mock him if raise his hand
I am sure this will kill the child
Show him the ruptured road sign
and tell him it is the one more taken
and if he steps out of the trodden line
his future shall be ruined and forsaken
I am damn sure this will kill the child
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