Riders

Humans or dancers?

Killers or gods?

There was a list that was long

Contained jailed singers and their songs.

Who are all now gone.

While we stay here all alone.

Dripping blood on the floor.

Concrete walls and black holes.

Slowly trying to go through them as we crawl,

Emitting sounds that grow old

We have got all in a choke hold.

When will the killers fold?

Still full of hatred and still bold;

Innocence dying on the floor while these demons, they stand tall.

Riders on the roads.