Our boggarts, our fears, our prejudice

War on war

The names of hate
Are the demons of the sad
The boggarts we create
Under the peace of our bed

The words of death
Are the self-preservation
Of a child on fear meth

Eaten by the bed of desperation

The ears of teaching
Are the word that spreads
By child fathers preaching
The darkness under the beds

The strong cogs of war
Are two beds in reverse touching just by the feet

And the boggarts that lie in the middle void are

Just the names of our fear that we will never meet