Ah, this road, my old friend.
How many injustices did you defend?
Did the men you proved innocent walk?
Only again to murder, terrorize and stalk?
I wonder what the mother of that child did,
As she cradled her bloodied child, rid.
Blades, bullet and fists.
You’ve covered them all, you did.
The coat on you remains fresh!
Because the blood of innocents? They do the best.
Lunatic psychopaths do their work,
Freely painting their lakes, ponds, and brooks.
Hiding in plain sight is the plan,
While sweeping victims from the land.
And the road only gets longer.
Width and shape like the Sanzu river.
Aptly named if I say so myself,
For a road crafted from innocent deaths.
A single whisper from a man,
Can send millions to this land.
So line up, single file, and kneel down.
It’s time to execute that whole town!
Shoot those guns like they’re toys,
You little, little soldier boys!
Time will be the pestle and mortar,
To make deathly silent the almighty roar,
Of the innocents we needed to use,
To paint this road with ends meet of good.