They send their mighty birds of steel to bomb our homes and kill our kin.
They say they are our saviours still, when they send those mighty birds of steel.
We hold our ears so tightly, so we don't hear the sounds of death.
After they have bombed our homes, killed our kin they send us on our way.
We cry and move the rubble still, to see if we can find them.
The saviours call us not by name,
but by numbers, which they care not for.
We sing for all of those we've lost, our sorrow deeper than the seas.
They've yet to see the blood they've spilled,
sitting on their golden thrones.
And when we come to seek a home,
they let us starve and freeze to death.
But most of us we die at sea, while they watch from shores ahead.
And when some reach their bloody shores,
they find out ways to send us back to broken homes and birds of death.
And when we kneel, on their shores and hear no screams and sounds of death,
just the sound of crashing waves.
These bloody shores don't show their sins, but we see it everywhere.
These saviours lands in which we kneel, think they are gods of life and death,
they know not of the blood they've split,
but it will come to haunt them.
They are just men that think they're gods, swimming in their wealth and greed.
They care not for the lives it takes, just that their power holds.
And they have not seen our war,
seen our death nor rage.
But it will come to those that take more than they requisite.
And when they see the war they've brought,
it'll be too late.
But God's are just as cruel as men and we are just their game.
By Anonymous Me