I am sitting
in the middle of war
seeing people falling
the wounded cry
while the dead sigh
as the blood rapids's on.

Blood had spilled,
will keep on going
down my doorstep
through the hall
up my window
and cover me down
the blood of them all.

Sitting on the steeple
when all is lost.

People crying in the doorways,
as their sons and fathers are lost.

Sitting in war
watching people fall
I see the spirits of war
in the blood
that is piled upon piles
turning into a red stream.

Redder than crimson
redder than the sun
pouring like the sun's juices
across the hall and people's doors
until there is a lake of blood.

Fire fire through the air
firing bullets of sound
peace and wisdom will beat them,
more than any one.