it's what i hear

it's what i hear
that sends a shiver of fear
down to my nervous feet,
busy crossing the meanest street,
scampering across the coldest floor,
perhaps to escape the next world war,
while i'm waiting for you!
tell me what i should do
when the clock strikes twelve
and i hear children cry?
really, there's no wondering why
the streets of gold are turning brown,
hopeful eyes turn looking down
and i lose my hair,
while sitting comfortably in my upholstered living room chair
cranking up classical music when those cries grow loud,
listening with alarm as distant human hearts growled
and an enormous bag of distracting dope,
opened at my side,
gave me a fleeting sense of hope.
it's what i hear.