killing our own, loving their death.
Brothers and sisters of who we don't know,
watching them gasp as they take their last breath.
Our morals, our souls get tossed aside;
we do not care about tears.
All our feelings on override:
we are loving this rush that we know as fear.
Mortal combat, with no emotion;
screaming covers homes of love-
homes disarrayed in deep commotion,
screaming to their God above.
Power, greed, hate and fear:
thoughts of which only a madman would understand.
Our leaders seem to be unclear:
the meek will only die out-manned
Blood is taken, souls are lost.
This is murder, given by an order.
No respect to sacred cost,
all run in chaos and disorder.
And why...
Does the strength of these leaders produce such a stain?
Persecution becomes the opportunity to show their strength,
the strength of rabid dogs.
The souls of these are dead; the souls of the meek remain.
Death comes through the bitterness of the lies in their dialogue.
Death is all it gives.
Death is all it takes.
We are all it's victims
and we live amongst the snakes
that we chose to rule.
We're still seen as fools.
It's time to eradicate
what they do to annihilate,
in shedding life for their own reasons
when they let peace and love die by their treason.
Confusion will be the end result
if we're only Ruled by this deathly cult.
But we sit back and say its not our fault.
Yet we fear tomorrow we'll all be dying.
« return.