LYRIC

the firing squads are over, now here the meat wagons
comes. under the bright blue sky and a burning sun.
whatever power has been sought, again only death has won.
whichever tyrant lost his head, promise me that you’ll be
careful. careful not to fall in love with your enemies,
for when you fight monsters it’s at the risk of becoming
one yourself.
yes, I saw two revolutionaries, wildest of the world, one
stood against the wall while the other pulled the
trigger. and as bullets ripped flesh apart one dream died
as the other forgot. so these are the killing fields
where none are left alive, where we sleep to the sound of
sharpening knives. where mass graves are dug for the
piles so high. becoming fascist, becoming enemy.

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