"With great dissatisfaction we propose to you a truce,
and further too, we relay to you, the lands of proof
In return all that we ask of you,
is to burn the land through,
and accept our lies as truth."

It was a lonesome room with little light
Men in suits, talking business and the like
Arab desert bombing, the news is very trite
Lack of remorse for families needing to fight
And the old men in suits care not, tonight
After bank statement perusing,
there's little left for sight

Cathedral bloodied, baron and besmirched
But by the hands of holy men that walk this Earth
We needn't look far to find the dirt
of deceitful white men, with desires so perverse