Lord my hands work the vine
A shadow in the hills of the kind
Stoned on a wrath well deserved
Heard marching in the Turks and Kurds

Stored in history upon might of steal
Burned in rivers of blood yet to heal
What makes a lingering sound
Love lost at the words of war resounds

Sword cuts cleanly in book yet to write
Markers of dreamers one is left one is right
How many innocents left
Children will survive

Cord of time pulls the clock of fear
Never a silence of hate and tears
Long the blood lines lie
Each a pattern to die

Reward is hell on its own
Driven by rocks and stones
Family against patterns keep
Death is kept in new she's deep

Cored the apple eve keeps in her hand
Long the penalty of man and man
Upon the rock we fall
River blood red still calls

Explored a kiss upon the cheek
Hand from a short rope
Still in the shadows
The money they keep

And truth is seldom found