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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