How much blood can you give
To turn the ocean red
Sang once a poet,
And here we are now
But are we still liberated?
Tell me, poet, tell me,
With your hands on your breast,
Do we not still sharpen our knives
Do we not still with malice fight
Ah wish I could be that man
To stand betwixt those bayonets
And put roses down those barrels
Which only could turn the red ocean
An ocean of life, torquoise blue.
No comments:
Post a Comment