Black Cross

Lies and ignorance in the media exist
Distortions of truth rise out of the mist
Born from a rich governor's pasture
In fields where the persecuted scream

Welcome to the land of death
If not our own, who shall we suggest
Will we rush into war in the name of progress
Or wait for a setup later calling it a test
In the aftermath paranoia is the real mess

Yes master we'll blindly serve your progress
While at home our children wait at an oasis
Never again shall I see my blood's face
But you care only of holding new ground

Call it a foothold on terror or a step for freedom
Your labels leave me buried as an empty shell
A vessel of submission for new comforts at home
Tools of conformity for wealth alone do we stand