God of Our Youth

What the devil wants are happy monkeys
Silent, with no knowledge of future's past.
Dancing with the strobes lit, and faces pale.
Exerted with all fun and copulate 
With the familiar sting of sexual touch.
Children to be raised by their bonobos
To grow up without knowing what love is.
Silent, with no knowledge, no speech, no thought
Language simplified to terse chords of
A ten thousand word vocabulary.
No one works, no one has their property
Starved; feeding on the remaining surplus
Of past generation's stores of green corn.
Breaking down the windows of good people
To steal from them their hard earned silver coins.
At the end, hell's the deserted cities
Its deserts the overgrown farmer's fields
Its dried up river beds the State's drained stores.
This is Socialism, God of our Youth.