End The Game

Killing-killing-killing everywhere there is killing Flood of blood, tears and cries without healing Gun and the powder are the fruit of festive time For cruelty they act, for religion they lay mine! Religion stood alone with tears without trust We lost the core of the peace and sat on crust And sky above us, worth musing mirth of pine Peace-peace-peace we recite being a supine Slowly, merrily, gaily humanity falls into ocean And the sun of heaven dying in rolling motion And moon on her face, the scar dark looks nice Meteors are the crackers of hell for the vice Still time is there for a ugly ending of cry Still time is there for lovely beginning of shy.