The folded paper tells it all,
Ripping through the warrior's call.
How powerless your battle cry,
As you sit and watch your best friends die.
Away from you the teardrop flies,
Granite being your favourite guise.
Sedate the voice you never had,
Your only say is the voting pad.
Cry for death
And be burried at dawn
Cry for peace
And be carried to mourn
Cry for home
And look forlorne
Cry until the gold turns to pain
The face that hangs above your bed,
Kisses you with lips of lead.
After struggling through the mire,
They find you hanging in razor wire.
Look away into the mist,
You only think to slit your wrists.
Don't be late for the moment when,
We'll point the gun back at them.
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