Befuddled and beset by the world he has created.
Confused, somewhat disturbed by ideas still contemplated.
The scientist sits alone in his lab with all his great inventions;
So many things that could be good with just the right intentions.
Instead the world abuses him and makes him build their arms.
A tear drop falls, as he tightens the bolt, for all the ones he harms.
An innocent child, this is not the future he foresaw,
But he's binded by morality and blinded by the law.
The heads of state don't hear because they're filled with lust for war,
He tries his best to pump out death, and still they scream for more.
He can't refuse it once they have commissioned the construction.
An artists, yet his music is a sonnet of destruction.
No one stops to ask if he believes in what he does,
Because he's not a killer or a thief and never was.
One more turret rifle, one more chain of fission,
No time to stop and breathe and it isn't his decision.
They say they want to save the world, but him, he sees their lies.
A first hand look, the chaos he has seen with his own eyes.
The liberators say that they will bring you sweet release.
Blood and iron, tears and sorrow, that's what they call peace.