Standing in abyss with two rags to my wrists
No scores settled with empty clenched fists
In this battle between 'the sense' and 'the rage'
The crescent and star and the colourful cage

I've travelled through valleys so empty and green
I've tasted the dust from the wind swirling plains
Through the drunken towns where morality weeps
To sleepy villages where normailty sleeps

In paper of one and of the other a colour
The Clink of Big Brother to the land of my Mother
The hazed orange ceiling to the clear open skies
I sit and wonder where my heart really lies

I've broken many walls in renegadal pursuits
But the decaying lies within the roots
Hence no vigour in these twisted up-shoots
A scorn strucken tree without any fruits

I'll scavenge through wastelands of shattered dreams
To find the road middling between these extremes
I'll kindle a fire to these disparate regimes
Dry out the bitterness of patriotic streams

Seeing the world through the loops of these chains
Nothing is clear but the brutal remains
A dreamboat caught between sporadic waves
No shoreline horizons to embrace