The old... and the bitter.

Politics. The most used words to describe,
The iron shackles that bind our society.
Our lives are governed by people we're not likely to ever meet,
and their laws forced upon us; For our own good, they say.
They have the peace of mind to tell us, what's good for us;
They've never met us, understood us in full?
They cannot possibly know what's good for us!

They read from graphs, and speak from statistics.
They judge us from biased reports, speakers on their side.
We allow them everything we have, and they give us only war.
Our heroes bleed their blood in a war between youth's;
A war instigated by the proud and bitter, by the old.

Men die, it's always been that way;
We die of illness, disease, age and shock.
Now, we die of bullets and metal, machines of war!
We die by the hands of our progress,
and our heroes die by the hands of the men we choose to guide us.

War. Unavoidable, two-sided face-off over resources to die for. Literally.
Spent bullets litter the dusty floor, sand gets everywhere.
Sore red eyes from that very sand;
It's a horror we send our men to suffer, to die in!

The men we choose to rule us, the men who leave our children nothing.
These are the men responsible for horror's beleaguing our lands.
And we are responsible for these men.
We are responsible...

So, the next time you put your pen to that ballot paper,
remember our heroes in those sandy trenches, with bullets scattered on the floor.
remember the old and the bitter making their proud, blind choices.
and remember, that your choice, chooses who will suffer.

So next time you put your pen to paper,
Remember, We are responsible.