| Intestines, shattered hopes and dreams adorn the floor
|
| The face behind the screen has seen it all before
|
| And the worst thing about is there’s more in store
|
| Just another sacrifice to the lords of war
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| The royal family sell guns
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| The royal family sell bombs
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| That kill the world’s poorest people
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| The government sell guns
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| The government sell bombs
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| That kill the world’s poorest people
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| The sacrosanct march of industry
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| The sacrosanct march of industry
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| Does such strange things to people
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| The spectatorship of suffering
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| The spectatorship of suffering
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| Does oh such strange things to people
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep?
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| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep at night?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep at night?
|
| Oh lord…
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| She was eight years old, imagination alive
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| Cute as could be, you could see the gleam of mischief in her eye
|
| Carrying her kite, to try find a place where it could it fly
|
| Hovering not far she saw what was a spaceship in her mind
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| Too young to really understand exactly what the buzz meant
|
| Bread and water everyday, other than that she’s unfed
|
| Pressure applied diplomatically to stop aid
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| Reality enforced by the air and naval blockade
|
| Back to her, through her blood flows Qahtan
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| Ancient civilisation but its status has lost charm
|
| She found a place to fly kite in the soft calm
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| Some will say that her life was in God’s palm
|
| She heard her mother call, saw her brother fall
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| Didn’t realise quick enough, stumbled from the sudden force
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| A flicker and a flash to the horror scene of death
|
| And this is what happens when technology meets flesh
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep at night?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep at night?
|
| Oh lord…
|
| Intestines, shattered hopes and dreams adorn the floor
|
| The face behind the screen has seen it all before
|
| And the worst thing about is there’s more in store
|
| Just another sacrifice to the lords of war
|
| A caravan in Nevada, he sits twiddling a control pad
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| Taking down coordinates, scribbling in his notepad
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| When he sweats the headphones itch and irritate his eczema
|
| Watching scenes on the screen as they enter through his retina
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| Sick of his life, his wife and this job 'cause it kills
|
| Sick of his father sick of debt from the hospital bills
|
| Childhood of computer games that learned him in murder
|
| He wonders if he’s better off serving up burgers
|
| A small part of him loved watching death from a distance
|
| But that feeling numbed away through monotonous repetition
|
| Merely going through the motions, like the robot that he operates
|
| Depersonalised murder, victim-less violence for the modern age
|
| His cold stare and tap of a button takes her only life
|
| Instantly regrets but watches on as she slowly dies
|
| Grotesquely intertwined via the screen that he stared through
|
| Her kite floats away but we will never know where to…
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| «What fools we are, to live in a generation, for which war is a computer game
|
| for our children, and just an interesting little Channel 4 News item»
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep at night?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep?
|
| Oh lord of war, how do you sleep at night?
|
| Oh lord…
|
| Intestines, shattered hopes and dreams adorn the floor
|
| The face behind the screen has seen it all before
|
| And the worst thing about is there’s more in store
|
| Just another sacrifice to the lords of war
|
| The lord lives in the third dimension far from the theatre
|
| But every now and again the whimpers of the carnage get nearer
|
| Sometimes in his dreams he sees the harmed and disfigured
|
| Like Dorian Gray can’t see his moral scars in the mirror
|
| Cognitive dissonance, suppresses his pangs of conscience
|
| Rationalises it away, everybody has their monsters
|
| But he is not everyone
|
| He is a parasite of life and carries within him a selfish song never sung
|
| Believes he loves his children, is he capable of love?
|
| Lord of the machines that rain Satan from above
|
| Will they justify what daddy did or hate him as they must
|
| Realise their bread and butter left faceless faces in the dust
|
| As the sights locked on her he loosened his suit and tie
|
| As he sighs, balls of fire were shooting off to her right
|
| As she died, he ordered a fruit juice with some ice
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| Her kite floats away, he admires the blueness of the sky… Oh Lord of war |