It Isn't the Guns

March 30, 2013
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They paint murals with bloodstains;
Bloodstains brought to pass by bullets.
As plaster erupts so does the panic.
Innocent lay dying and bleeding
Next to the killers, who have hellish grins.
This isn’t a warzone,
It simply has the same décor.

The world’s burning from the heat of ammunition,
We’ve been infected by some strange condition,
We’re all crazed by the violence
As if we were sharks circling blood.

Well there’s blood in the mud,
There’s blood in the dirt,
There’s blood in the sand,
In fact, there’s blood on our hands.

This indeed must be the end,
Try to wipe away the tears,
But tears are replaced by blood,
And we can only see red,
Give it a few years,
And we will all be dead,
For there is no vaccine
That will rid us of this plague.

How have we changed from heavenly to hellish?
Where did this come from?
Too many parents are crying
While their children lay dead and dying.
Oh woe be unto the world,
Oh woe oh woe,
Give the innocent somewhere to go,
Where they can escape the hell.
Let us again learn love.

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