Philosophers

Philosophers of death

Notes from a blind man

Living in history

Soldiers morally flawed

staring into space

The souls of the dead

Walking in the shadows

They hear the screams

In their dreams

 Epidemic of schizophrenic stories

Pilgrimage through all the brace casings

The wealthy getting rich 

Taxing the dead

Smiling at all the pain

That is what some people do

Justifying the blood under their nails

Blaming it on religion 

The colour of your skin

The fear in their eyes

Losing control

The president stands in front of a camera 

Saying something he believes to be true

As the ice melts

And the bodies pile up

Philosophers of death

Smiling at the camera 

As the smell of dying

lingers heavy in the air

Tasting like burning hair 

Saying something 

he wishes was true

Hate a tool 

Blame it on religion 

Blame it on the colour of my skin

Wrapped in a flag

You call it national pride

Burning all the books

Fire anyone that questions validity 

Blame it on disloyalty

Hate is your tool

A strategy to manipulate 

Say it over and over again

You will still hear their screams 

In shadows of your dreams