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A little blood to keep us clean.

What happened to the water we drink.

What happened to the thoughts we think.

Money can buy happiness but it can't make it last.

My Mother see's no future because she was hurt by the past

The peasants and craftsmen try to ignore, as their sons and daughters eager to deplore. 

A little dirt never hurt no one. A little blood to keep us clean.

Let the animals die to keep us strong.

Through the winter with the sheep's wool over our eyes, and warming our hearts towards our fellow man.

Our goats wade through the garbage of the modern land. 

Plastic icons of a culture lost it's way.


Sad pregnant dogs stare out over third world fields, with factories beyond, in the mist.

Howl gypsies on horseback. Puppies die on handkerchiefs in wet grass.

Let us weave and carve our life of wood, meat, and milk. Let our homes decay so grandfather can spend the day fixing them with a smile while he smokes

Let our harvest be meek, so our women loose weight, and our authors create. 

Let our cities eat each other and suffer in the pit of snakes, and leave us their trash. Seduce our children in to hypnotic electric mice.

So we can be different and go on. So we can sing this song of our ancient 

past. Of our sure future. Of our confident lackluster.


Fortitude and joy of knowing what we have to share - if you can see it. 

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