What makes you think you have the right

To end a life

You think you higher than the most high

Only he can decide who lives or die

You never give it so how can you take it

Value of life lost

Wasting your own life with your

wrong doings

You think there is not a price

To pay for your wrongful ways

So young and full of hate

You would fear to touch and kill

As a heavy burden to rot in hell.

So lock your doors and chain your mind

That buried dirt would seek to find.

It starts before the angry dawn

Clasped in olive drab clad hands

Prayers sung in country psalms

In manmade madman dawns

Lit by war fire skies

Steel peels back mankind

Whistling of spiral bombs

Singing death drop songs

Lures, the City
Like a jewel, faceted,
Fastened into a golden ring
Precious, rare, brilliant