War
Bring out your dead children and bury them deep,
Give vent to your sorrow cry loudly and weep,
Let blood soak the ground from the grave to the shore,
Then let man worship long, - at the altar of war.
Stain deeply the lands with the souls of the slain,
Ingrained on your hands and ingrained in your brain,
A mad repetition that was practised before,
As man worships long, - at the altar of war.
No end to your madness no end to your greed,
Is it all domination that you crave to succeed,
As poisoned your mind is, as red is your hand,
We are weary of this, - can you not understand.
This World, this great Planet, and the child of your seed,
Is sickened and sad by your slaughtering deed,
And asks that you change and a peace do restore,
So that we and our World, can eradicate war.
No more should the rivers run red with our blood,
No more should these lands be of rubble and mud,
No more should a poison rise up in the sky,
No more!, - should this Planet!, ask itself!. - WHY?.
Mick Westwood
Give vent to your sorrow cry loudly and weep,
Let blood soak the ground from the grave to the shore,
Then let man worship long, - at the altar of war.
Stain deeply the lands with the souls of the slain,
Ingrained on your hands and ingrained in your brain,
A mad repetition that was practised before,
As man worships long, - at the altar of war.
No end to your madness no end to your greed,
Is it all domination that you crave to succeed,
As poisoned your mind is, as red is your hand,
We are weary of this, - can you not understand.
This World, this great Planet, and the child of your seed,
Is sickened and sad by your slaughtering deed,
And asks that you change and a peace do restore,
So that we and our World, can eradicate war.
No more should the rivers run red with our blood,
No more should these lands be of rubble and mud,
No more should a poison rise up in the sky,
No more!, - should this Planet!, ask itself!. - WHY?.
Mick Westwood
