TORN
Beneath the famous rainbow,
Lies a land of devestation.
A battlefield of personal agendas,
The killing fields of our beloved land.
The grim reaper rides astride an AK-47
Flying missiles of greed and corruption,
Whistle continually overhead…
Like fire-rain, shrapnel dessicates.
The sickening stench of death rises,
From a ground heated by hate.
The screams of wounded and dying,
Mingle with SHOUTS! of short-lived victory.
Then through the mist of blood and tears,
There rises the shadow of a Cross…
Salvation of man, throughout the ages,
GOD – torn for our peace.
