There are such horrors a man can do.
Such troubles a man will know,
That when dawn brings blood and dew,
Those troubles a man will show.

When the sand blows freely and hot,
And the earth is dry and frail,
Those lives lost perhaps for naught,
will show cheeks a whiter shade of pale.

Now those dead lie still in the leeching sun,
While red lies leech the living,
For when great horrors are done in fun,
The men show no forgiving.

So speak none, but sing and chant,
and sleep none, but rhyme and rant,
For revolution rings in their hearts,
Believing bloodshed proves their parts.

They remember not the massacre today,
But the future; whose foundation they've laid,
For when they look back on such horrors, they will say:
The greater good is where lines blur from white to grey.