War and Christmas Tree ;

Air raids, sirens, smell of freshly charred skin and napalm

All for a piece of land that can be owned and ended with -stan.

Patriarchy in the garb of big guns, bigger egos and small shlongs

Rooted to our self created hell we are all plants

Desensitized to blood, numb to violence; unknown to peace

We walk together yet alone on these streets.

Love; love was the answer; it was beneath a christmas tree.

But we lost it along with the mistletoe; the unrequited stories that never happened;

Waiting; waiting for another war; our self created, silent and distant disaster.