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They speak of history but I
I remember
Old hands, work done traditionally
But every one a child of late December
The innocence of youth,
Gathering dust behind the shell belt and boots
(Who’s under your control?)
You’re raising lives for slaughter
But when it’s time for them to die, it has to be you
There’s a shadow overhead
Somewhere an instinct screams to be believed
This fear is old
We want you to know that we
See it all
And I know that you feel shame
Your skin crawls but you will not be saved
We see it, we see it all
Laid low, by your hand
We’re baited for the fall
The graves you dig will bury you
We see it all
Concealed, contained in wire
You can’t disguise
This misery will be reflected harder
From the skies
The hand clutched around their broken wings
Smiling on to endless suffering
Crucified on bloodsoaked pine
Revenge is sweet
Justice, divine