The thing about the young blood
Is that it has no age to tell
Weather life has been an angel
Or a creature from a hell.
A hell which we created
Within our deepest fears,
The grass becomes intoxicated
With the alcoholics' tears.
You give up hope,
You long for dope,
Just something for the now.
But to sit and observe,
I haven't the nerve,
And I simply could not allow.

Young Blood, Red Mud.
Nobody seems to care.
Just as messy, just as new
Even demons have troubles too
And nobody seems to care.
Nobody seems to care.