Red Sands

Blood on the sand

Blood on the handsof 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 glare of the light

Those without strength

Who can't raise hands yet alone guns

Become prisoners of conscience

Though not your conscience

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