riffle in my hands
not muffled, not silenced the gunshots fired
one by one they fall
the living and yet walking dead with their empty smiles
the lies engulfing all, shadowing the truth and the sun
my own empty hands are burning
red - the sunset falling apart
riffle in my hands
napalm is lighting the darkness
one by one they burn
these hypocrites with empty voices
their buildings, houses, cars and petty little indulgence
my own empty dreams are now ashes
red - the phoenix bird croaks
death in my hands
but no smoke arose
my lighter died
and I'm out of fags
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