The year of the locust yells loudly
Throwing time into grief,
Dancing nightmares, beclouding rickety,
It's the era of torture, where nothing alive weakens,
Mercies fallen into cracked holes, drowning in the sea of misery,
Close the lines, aye, strengthen the fortress,
The times are fast upon us, choking our reign,
It's the year of havoc, that year of the locust.

My meek and mild mother, who gave birth to me;
my solemn, sad father, who died needlessly.
I gave them both up: one to Life, one to Death,
and now I breathe freely my own bastard breath!

Oh hush now my baby and start into dreaming -
The day has expired and the stars fill the sky;
Your room is filled up with the moon’s brilliant beaming,
And angels have come to protect you and I.

From out in the field I hear crickets sing after
The sound of a coo from a sweet mourning dove;
They sing every night and live life full of laughter,
Because they have peace from the master above.

The street I grew up on,
Memories of childhood linger on.
A house so small, yet so full of cheer,
It was a place I held so dear.

The street I grew up on,
Was filled with laughter, fun, and song.
My friends and I would play all day,
Riding bikes and running away.

The street I grew up on,
Had many of its secrets kept.
From the old gambler who lived down the way,
To the big oak tree in the park where we'd play.