They are dying in our pointed cameras
Culled like vermin; dressed in plastic shrouds.
Droves of dead among more dead's hammered howls.

And cynical politics is now a clamor of
Writhing noise masking bombs that pound.
They are dying. In our pointed cameras.

And putrid politicians bare the hammer of
Genocide, fixing nothing, the bodies mound
Droves of dead, among more dead's hammered howls.

A broken cry is stunted by spilling bowels
Blasted into broken bits never found.
They are dying in our pointed cameras.

We are blinded; they are executed like savages
And we pretend the oppressor has not bound
Droves of dead among more dead's hammered howls.