Tekstovi: Funeral. Silent Weapons.

With deadbolts and chains, and locks on our doors, fear sets in, imprisonment ignored. Life seen through bars in windows. No settlement, no government, set a new precedent - no longer ghettoize America, under new management. While they pump in the drugs to the streets and to the gangs, crushing opposition through confusion and charades, the voice of dissent is sautered and sealed, smashed again and again under a grinding, spiked heel. We cannot explain why we've been put in this position. False media leads us in wrong directions. To praise thirteen stripes - blood red of millions dead, and white for the man who has brought on the end. But right outside the window the world is seen askew. Because between us and them, me and you, we've grown blind to the crimes and become the fools. Held responsible - conglomerate monsters. From slave trade, to world trade, nothing can satisfy the hunger of the conquerors. Unaware of our senseless violence. Slaves to our captors. Held down and kept silent