Where Does The Guilt Go? Poem by Alfred Barna

Where does the guilt go, when washed from your hands?
As the bombs and bullets fly upon foreign lands
All under pretenses of lies no one understands
Where does the guilt go, when washed from your hands?
Where do you bury the dead piled upon you heart
Do you dig a hole so deep, as if you didn't play your part?
Touching the stove plate of your soul, to find it was too hot
Where do you bury the dead piled upon your heart?
Where are the prisons for the men who like to be king?
To maintain the golden throne, they would murder anything
Using the armed poor to do their evil bidding
Where are the prisons for the men who like to be king?
Tell me, when a kingdom's king is mad, do we become madness
And when the world is sad, do we become sadness
And when elite profit is glad, do we become gladness
Tell me, when a kingdom's king is mad, do we become madness
The innocent pay the price for the guiltiest eyes to have their glint
They wink; we are blind to their lies no matter how hard we squint
And our broken hearts are shattered for which there is no splint
The innocent pay the price for the guiltiest eyes to have their glint
Where does the guilt go, when washed from your hands?
The rivers are now blood as you are in the Colosseum's stands
The cheers louder as you weep as you are sitting amongst the fans
Where does the guilt go, when washed from your hands?