Blood on the sand Blood on the hands of a handful of madman What a way to see the world Through the smeared window of a TV-Screen Technicolour assasinations Assasinations that make me scared and afraid Afraid of the streets that breed malice and hatred Those with their heads bowed to the darkness Those who can`t see for the glave of the light Those without strength Who can`t raise hands yet alone guns Become prisoners of concience Though not your concience You cheer and rejoice as life trickles away Through the outlets you give in the shape of a gun Our world is slipping quickly away
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