The hills find peace. Locked armed guard posts. Safe from the screams. Of the children born as ghosts. Gates guns and alarms. Shape the calm of the dawn. Peering down into the basin. Where death lives on. Where young run foaming at the mouth with hate. Where burning batons beat the freezing who shake. Under the toxic sunsets they dine and toast. Their walls deny the terror faced by the children born as ghosts. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. Were the children born as ghosts. Born as ghosts. One book and forty odd. Stuffed in a room. Ah the school as a tomb. Where home is a wasteland. Taste the razor wire. And thought is locked in the womb. The tales that tear at the myth of the dream. (myth of the dream myth of the dream). A suffering that shocks the lives off the screen. (myth of the dream myth of the dream). Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. We are the children born as ghosts. Born as ghosts. Born as ghosts. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. A warning you sufferers begin to speak our words. Born as ghosts. Were the children born as ghosts. Born as ghosts. Born as ghosts