They don’t care if you’re breathing,

Dare yourself to walk on the streets they’re guarding

Filled with corpses punctured with bullets of their pride.

They look up and command the skies to expire,

Or a droplet on their noses and they open fire;

From the crater in the sky come waves that imbibe,

And all that grows in their land is crushed, obliterated and gridlocked,

on a map that shows carcasses as trophies on their heads as they jay-walked;

Whips that made us bleed, they would flout and deride…