GreenChoby: Listen/Lyrics
Blood On Their Hands
Mickey rolled down the passenger window and blew a mouth full of smoke. His eyes like the glass of that window, dry and hard as he spoke. "Hey Andy, didja' see them lookin' scared when we made our demands?" He chuckled as he wiped away his hair, wearing blood on his hands, wearing blood on his hands.
In the tomb of his winter of consciousness, white as his rage. Are the voices of the past played on constant tracks, with their pictures erased. And all alone some dear old woman thinks, now her Mickeys a man. She turns the page of photos unaware there is blood on her hands, she's got blood on her hands.
Who can answer the ground that's now crying? Who is to blame for the murders of the age? Who can purge the hatred we're hiding? Where is retribution paid?
Andy dosed off to sleep on the open road, the car veered into a ditch. But both drunk enough to lose track of fearing time, they spent the night feeling rich. And in the morning when the sun rose on the field of a cemetery's land. Mickey squinted at the life and death revealed. Wiping blood from his hands, wiping the blood from his hands.
Who can answer the ground that's now crying? Who is to blame for the murders of the age? Who can purge the hatred we're hiding? Where is retribution ... Where is retribution paid?
We've got blood on our hands!