anonimix

There’s a cold wind blowing,

There’s blood on the track,

We don’t know where we’re going,

But we’re not turning back.

On the hill there’s a man with murder in his eye,

He gives the word and the bombs and the bullets fly,

Is anyone listening?

Can anybody see?

We are the broken people dying on TV,

We’re not asking much,

We just want to walk free.

There’s a cold wind blowing,

From the hills to the plains,

Blood keeps on flowing,

From innocent veins.

On the road there’s a man with a gun in his hand,

He pulls the trigger and a child lies dying in the sand.

Is anyone listening?

Can anybody see?

We are the broken people dying on TV,

We’re not asking much,

We just want to walk free.