Tomorrow we'll run and the day will soon come when
the gatling, rattling, battling of guns will be done.
Today where aluminium wings hold dominion over
occupied lands and we don't even know whose hands hold the stick,
when the sick are just trying to not be among the dying,where the old seek the young and the young seek to be old,
who do we hold to be Kings?
aluminium wings?

If his will be done,tell me when will that be,and
will there be anyone left to see it?
Angels in choirs but who's pulling the wires,
who's fixing the scale
why is it that success seems to hinge on doors made to fail
who's derailing the train
why not try fixing the track
who wants to go back to an earlier age before rage took the lead?

If you read it must be true,the printed word would not lie to you but on
aluminium wings it now flies to you
what can you have faith in when the world you know caves in and the lights go out?