The Mask of Anarchy rides out once more

And leads his troops to clear the killing floor

His crocodile tears are shed from glassy screens

And fall like neon gemstones, subtly guided

To dash out the brains of fleeing refugees

'We are the agents of peace!' twisted words are cried

'This action will not cease!' bombs fall from the sky

In this slaughter of the innocents who must die

In order that a greater evil be destroyed?

 

A lapdog's face twists grins into concern

His earnest words and waving hands express

Distaste at the way this war has turned

Yet gnaws upon the bones that have been burned

By Anarchy's stealth forces and then tossed

Down from that higher table to his pet

As payment earned for loyalty unquestioned

But this war cannot offer glory, blood or gold

Just mass graves, empty cities, barren landscapes

 

Silent

 

Cold