Here I exist, on a land of broken thread,
Where the people of the past are lost,
And have simply lost their heads.
They’ve been put in an unmarked grave,
And been rolling ever since,
Praying endlessly to be saved,
The rest of the nation is convinced.
People shoot their murder machines,
They watched as their neighbors bled.
Hydrangea and rose play out their scenes,
They sang as the olive branch fled.
Love is burned beneath our feet,
I can not stop the fire from growing.
We remain just beneath the stars,
While death laughs and continues sowing.
Here I exist on a land of broken thread,
Where the children of greed are stirring,
And our people don’t share their bread.