The fear and pain;

a world insane.

Fear grows within,

to stand a sin.

Enemies abound

but none are found.

We blame them all

create our own fall.

Windmills we fight,

we’re always right.

Media creation

fear their nation;

they won’t obey

and live our way.

No oil to use

so we abuse.

No right, no wrong

we’re good – our song.

We strip worlds bare,

we don’t know where;

enemies abound

= paranoid sound.

Childhoods end near;

buried in fear.

What are we today;

what is out true way?

Spirit