We go into sabotage

When there's no cabotage
One day were going to be whacked by others in camouflage.

Or some internal/external force. The age is up, no time left for remorse. There is the road to sweet and flavored penitence, or there is another path, a more bloodshed innocence.

No more remembrance in the near dearest future, though our acts won't come together, were *******, we've knifed back open our own
Sutures.

The newspaper heralds in what the public denies, the paper with its war photos, Tell's truth that can't lie. Though broadcasting puts out, only what they are told, their not fooling me, I'm not dumb

Just old.