The black rises, then falls.
A flash of orange 'neath the grey.
The voice of a thousand hurricanes
feeds the sound of decay.
Martyrs, beneath the rubble, they lay.
Upon waves high as mountains
the columns emerge.
With volatile tips, they cleanse a scourge.
One, two, three and four;
children greet them and speak no more.
Across the land, in a strip,
the birthplace of gauze.
Two million and a half, fettered by walls.
Double tap, tap, tap, the buttons are worn.
From air, land and sea, their bodies flung; torn.
A land made fertile through blood and war,
as squatters wring their hands wanting ever more.
A piece for him, a piece for her,
upon the flesh they'll build.
Rivieras for rapists of pedophilic skill.
One country, eight countries, make them all fall.
You sovereign? No sovereign. We'll have your oil.
Filthy Goy, we're chosen. Prostrate to your gods!
Filthy Goy! Be silent! Stop changing their hearts!
Tap tap the red button, tap tap from the sky.
I want my riviera! I'll tap 'til they die!
