Sunday morning. . .


You'll hear oldies on the radio,
while your woman cooks your microphone.
The siren screaming "get away from here!"
the Aud lang syne is in your ears,
It changes overtime, and this is not a drill.


The moment of silence is more important,
than a series of bombing for the innocent. . .
The running chariot of insolence,
heading it's way inside my head and blowing it!


Saturday have just arrived,
The nightly calm and lullabies.
Yesterdays home is now long gone. . .
my father shot himself with a two barrel shotgun. . .


The moment of silence is more important,
than a series of bombing for the innocent. . .
The running chariot of insolence,
heading it's way inside my head and blowing it!