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
