I live with the blood of man on my hands,
Knowing full well, and without a doubt,
That one breath may be my last,
But what can you do in this day and age,
To stay alive with such a haunting past?
I stole from a cripple and tripped a small child,
Bother born under royalty and living life,
While I was forced to live in a box on the side,
But could they understand me?
My life is something from which they hide.
Rebel against “the man” with “my friends”,
Blow up their tanks and guns,
They brought us this horrible life,
So we’re going to spill their blood,
And let them crumble under massive strife.
How many times must we do this?
Sabotage their weapons and treasures,
Pillage their forts and towers,
Hold this everlasting vendetta,
As it grows thinner with the passing hours.
I live the life of a rebel,
Surviving off the streets and suffering,
My past life stolen from me,
Let them see our pain and defiance,
We just pray each night that they’ll soon see…
They can’t ignore our acts forever,
Explosions and murders can’t go under cover,
We’ll exploit them and continue on,
I’ll see to it myself that it is done,
And bring our life back with the dawn…
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