quinta-feira, 12 de janeiro de 2012

Conform, sweet lamb.

No longer on the end of an umbilical cord, you couldn´t walk.
Wonder blessed you like you were a tiny god.
Spending the next ten years bathing in rules and conditions, modes and manners.
Now a drop of curiosity seeps so slowly into a blockbuster, action packed, done before, soap opera reality.
A media that questions things for you.
Regiments of braindead teachers stomping creativity with their mistrust conformist sneer.
Noble leachers instigate fear, producing control fuel.
No protests, no protests. And the children stopped asking questions.

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