Father cut off my head

The Days of broken glass again,

crystal skulls and bones with blood diamonds

thrown with screaming frustration through

financial multi million windows,

the (de)monetary maze is calling

to keep the infected factories burning and in place,

the grand investment of the new world order.

The tribes are well armed, just enough money

to buy a gun, fighting amongst each other,

dying on the raw material,

the material you could also use to make a plough,

the same material that end up in the pockets

of the investors who choose to make guns.

So much for economy.

Mother Africa is still bleeding

in a dark cellar in London Town,

she is gang raped over and over again, chained to the wall

by the emperors of democracy,

in-between their moments of desire for more of the same

the deal was made with China to pay off the debts,

the world of slavery.

Smile the camera is walking through the mirror machine.

The eternal knows right now.