Another cold flash, three more dead, bodies on the altar; blood red. Fortunes grow, so does the pain, a never-ending war against our fellow man. So we lose hope, and they smell fear and put the guns in our hands to kill ourselves. Don’t think it’s gonna change when we buy and sell death every day. More pain; more heartbreak; each buck a step closer to our own grave. They’ve got us scared of the wolves at our doors (at our doors) while we're blind to the worms feasting at our core. Another cold flash, three more dead, bodies on the altar, stained blood red. Through fear and greed we're misled while the money piles higher than the dead.
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