Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.
For every person looking to preserve life,
There are 4 looking to destroy it.
For everyone who has the tools of compassion, humanity –
Oh, only a handful of us ever employ it.
There is no neutrality when our conscious hearts fail.
If our better halves remain silent our darker halves prevail.
Festering in heat,
Moral fabric unweaves,
The sound of a sacred bond shattered by deceit,
The sound of a stained glass window shattered by thieves,
Oh, somewhere our better half grieves.
The enigmatic future draws ever-nearer,
An ambiguous choice becomes clearer,
The sound of rattling, an empty heart,
Battling, an empty mind,
The sound of hurried footsteps…
And there are others not far behind.
The blind leading the blind,
Oh, somewhere our better half searches to find…
A shelter from all of these two-ton war machines,
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
The pain lingers,
Morality rests in tatters,
Miniature death bringers,
The sound of a bigot’s daggers,
The sound of a suicide victim’s gun, facing backwards,
After he decides that nothing else matters…
Oh, somewhere our better half staggers.
The temperature escalates,
Morality thrown out with the spoils,
The sound of tension as it elevates,
The sound of blood as it boils,
Oh, somewhere our better half recoils…
Because everyone has a two-ton war machine.
A guilty conscience, a burdened soul, a heavy heart,
And a two-ton war machine.
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.
Written by Thorne McFarlane (Fatal Dawn)
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.
For every person looking to preserve life,
There are 4 looking to destroy it.
For everyone who has the tools of compassion, humanity –
Oh, only a handful of us ever employ it.
There is no neutrality when our conscious hearts fail.
If our better halves remain silent our darker halves prevail.
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Festering in heat,
Moral fabric unweaves,
The sound of a sacred bond shattered by deceit,
The sound of a stained glass window shattered by thieves,
Oh, somewhere our better half grieves.
The enigmatic future draws ever-nearer,
An ambiguous choice becomes clearer,
The sound of rattling, an empty heart,
Battling, an empty mind,
The sound of hurried footsteps…
And there are others not far behind.
The blind leading the blind,
Oh, somewhere our better half searches to find…
A shelter from all of these two-ton war machines,
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
The pain lingers,
Morality rests in tatters,
Miniature death bringers,
The sound of a bigot’s daggers,
The sound of a suicide victim’s gun, facing backwards,
After he decides that nothing else matters…
Oh, somewhere our better half staggers.
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
The temperature escalates,
Morality thrown out with the spoils,
The sound of tension as it elevates,
The sound of blood as it boils,
Oh, somewhere our better half recoils…
Because everyone has a two-ton war machine.
A guilty conscience, a burdened soul, a heavy heart,
And a two-ton war machine.
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace, godly uniqueness, divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine….
Everyone has a two-ton war machine…
Written by Thorne McFarlane (Fatal Dawn)