Looking down upon the slaughter
where they fought for
ladies and their honour,
but the time had not
yet ripened and the pawn shops
ceased their trading,
in the arcade they were playing
space invaders on the tables and the coins
that they had given to the beggars by the temple
turned to stone.

On the Motorola highway with the scenic route behind us
we were hoping that a miracle could save the dying
children,
but the wishing well had broken and was due for demolition
very soon.

I have watched the grape strangle the vine and slowly turn to blood red wine to drip down from a wooden cross and stain the ground and felt a loss and struggled with a conscience that held fear but gave no favour,
in the dust I've trampled several names and rearranged a life these games I play
and honestly it never really bothered me but red wine tastes like drying doom when drunk alone I find no room to sit in solitude and pray
it's just like any other day but different in a different way and that's the way it all began before the rising of the Sun, before the slaughter hit the news, before we knew what beans to use, before the views became our own and in the room I'm not alone there's always someone in the corner of my eye.