| To the thoughts of the many from the minds of the few
|
| Voice of reason, censored view
|
| The truth is the News and the News is the truth
|
| As if that’ll do as a lame excuse for
|
| Killing the slavers, taking the slaves
|
| Burying the dead, then robbing the graves
|
| Stealing the modesty from heroes brave
|
| Making the tears gush like waves
|
| Ch: Deadeye watches, still the killing carries on
|
| To the rhythm of the gunfire and the voices of concern
|
| Deadeye claims to be some conscience for us all
|
| But I was never born to be some fly upon the wall
|
| Window dressing and the tinsel wreath
|
| Stealing the pity and the widow’s grief
|
| Sentimental with a furrowed brow
|
| Pinning the heart on the blooded sleeve
|
| Ch: Deadeye watches, still the killing carries on. |
| .
|
| And yes I’ve crouched beneath the glow — dazzled by it all
|
| But this is not the world I know or people I recall
|
| To the thoughts of the many from the minds of the few:
|
| Voice of reason, censored view
|
| A little knowledge is a dangerous thing
|
| Here is the butterfly, here’s the wing
|
| Ch: Deadeye watches, still the killing carries on. |
| . |