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Letztes Update: |
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Willst Du in die Update-Liste? Sonst irgendwas zu sagen? Na dann... |
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Wer Tippfehler findet, darf sie behalten! |
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Filled with love and compassion. As she fixes her make-up for a day of fun. He reads the news, it depresses her. With reports on death by bomb and gun. Astride their horses in winter lanes. They smile at nature with tenderness. They hear the call, they hold hands with pride. And look down at the bloody mess.
And civilised upright citizen's grin. As the dogs teeth tear at shreiking skin. This ain't savagery, it's jolly old culture. As they stand and wait for death like vultures. She laughs at the bloody furs flying. Re-applies her lipstick as the animals crying. He claims the tail as priviliged prize. And kicks the mangled corpse aside.
The time has come when we must all turn around and start to think. No more standing in the corner. Question the missing link. The link that creates misery and pain. That sees the mistakes, but makes them again. You've heard it once, you'll hear it again. Your blood, their blood serves the same.
There they stand and grin. Never thinking or questioning - 'Why blood of innocents must be spilt'. They smile but they can't hide the guilt. That their life is built upon a pile of bodies. Slaughtered animals, slaughtered squaddies. The pleasure they take from anothers death. Hides the truth that murder feeds their wealth.
She smiles at him as dead eyes stare. He takes her hand and strokes her hair. His finger tips soaked in misery are the mark of aristocracy. And the broken form lying in the ditch. The handiwork of dog and bitch. Bears the label of decency. The honour given graciously.
And backs are slapped in celebration. At the successful of extermination. Freedom maintained su humanely. As they wipe their hands of blame so bravely. Back at home she wears the fur that rpoves his precious lust for her. Death or glory on her shoulders sit. As the master takes what's rightfully his.
Murder is committed in the guise of sport. Ripping flesh is given no thought- Glasses are raised in dedication. The crime is given a justification. Heart beats faster, eyes wide and staring. Death comes whistling cold, uncaring. Slaughtered bodies, slaughtered squaddies. Their wealth is built from murdered bodies.
(CONFLICT, mal wieder von Carsten: Danke, Baby!)
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