Walking on the path of wheat,
eating all the dried up meat,
your eyes can't look at the crying child,
your hands are burning,
                                   got to fly.

You must get off you must not cry,
there is time to kill there is time to die,
return the gun into your grave,
stop the killing of
                                 the slaves.

The skies are full of colored bombs,
explosions knockings  on your door,
be brave be strong be full of blood,
be made of iron golden
                                       light.

Find some pieces of forsaken hope,
let them warm our broken bones,
help the poor life and pain,
get to know the human
                                          brain.
You might get killed you might get lost,
you won't resist the acid burn,
you won't sleep peacefully again,
you cry you shout and nothing helps,
war is on your door you have got no defense,
keep on moving
                                        anywhere.

Sometimes target is a little child,
pull the trigger or you will die,
because the war is on your door.
                                           tear yourself.