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.

PAIA MANUAL | © CYPSA, All Rights Reserved | NPO Reg No: 078 436 | PBO Reg No: 930060636