| Out of the East a prince shall rise
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| To summon fire from the skies.
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| I’m lord of this wasteland — where my word is law
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| My bedfellows pestilence, famine and war
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| Turn children to orphans — make wives into widows
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| Then laugh at your plight behind bullet-proof windows
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| With swords made of Black Gold the world is my whore
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| I’ve all you could wish for yet still I want more.
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| Out of the East the prince shall rise.
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| They are the victims (the ones who survived)
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| To bury their families along with their pride
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| Forgotten, forsaken, defenceless and lost
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| They count their blessings whilst counting the cost.
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| All they can do is pray that his greed shall destroy him
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| But meanwhile they choke on another man’s poison.
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| Should we turn our cheeks so the mad and the twisted
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| May strike us again 'cus we never resisted?
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| They’ll slaughter our allies — invade all our neighbours
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| Then when they come here there’ll be none left to save us…
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| Then we’ll be the victims — the ones who must fight
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| Bury our families and our human rights
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| To the hands of a madman all liberty lost
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| He’ll reap the rewards while The Earth pays the cost
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| Spill oil on troubled waters — believe yourself divine
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| By calling it an act of war you cover up the crime. |