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Suffer The Little Children
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School bell go "Ding! Dong! Ding!" The children all line up They do what they are told Take a little drink from the liar's cup Mama don't really care If what they learn is true Or if it's only lies Just get them through the factories Into production Ah, get them into line Late in the afternoon The children all come home They mind their manners well Their little lives are all laid out Mama don't seem to care If she may break their hearts She clips their wings off, they never learn to fly Poor Mama needs a source of pride A doctor son she'll have No what the cost to manhood or to soul Sun shine down, brightly shine Down on all the land Shine down on the newborn lambs A butcher's knife is in his hand



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