They are hunters,
banging on the doors drawing the blinds,
putting the children on their knees
with automatics.
Firepower on firepower,
we are more than we need

and we behave so crazy,
so paranoid.
Blood stained carpets;
we sit in a cage and say we're
safe
and still that blood stains grows
to keep us content.

I heard it in the sugar skulls.

They said, "the dead men are still dead"
but somehow they lied as they hissed
exactly what I wanted to hear;

"the dead men are still dead."