He feels his machete,
Gets the comfort of knowing he still has it
And in the name of ill will,
Turns cold inside.
An inhuman spirit runs through him,
As he strangles a fellow human,
One with no power whatsoever ,
to change that which is unchangeable.
The news go fast ,
It actually spreads like wildfire,
Men stutter and speak in low tones,
Of what our land has become.
And they ask,
Has it become a gangland?
If you speak not and do your thing,
They think you must be after something.
If you speak out,
You are a loud mouth and a nuisance,
and you must be silenced.
And so one after the other is silenced,
Till the guns go silent.
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