|
Burning sun, if you hear me |
|
Burn those roses in the sand |
|
They can sing their litany |
|
They can suffer in my tears. |
|
Land of communion burn inside. |
|
Rushing blood into my eyes |
|
Chant of widows on the streets |
|
Warriors coming right on their way |
|
But no enemies to fight. |
|
Land of confusion cast me aside. |
|
Out in the garden, sleeping, pleading |
|
Behind the doorway, begging, starving |
|
Around the corner mourners, murders |
|
We're just survivors in the city. |
|
Thoughts of death in words and knives |
|
Chant of widows in my mind |
|
They can sing my revenge |
|
And evoke the lord of fire. |
|
Land of communion burn inside. |
|
Land of confusion cast me aside. |
