The Road Is Lost

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain

Each day we hear the score, before not after shots of war

And the road to him is love, but the love is never more

Wishing it all to end

enraged by the slaughtering

thoughts explode like my heads a grenade and I drawed the pin

talking to men with one choice to run off or defend

must punish to win, gotta let that gun off for ya kin

the only laws is 'no laws at all' once it begins

from the smell of blood violence is absorbed into the skin

and the thoughts of kids caught up should torture people to death

now freedoms with them see if they morph and see any sense

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain

Each day we hear the score, before not after shots of war

And the road to him is love, but the love is never more

Not all true pictures of war are drawn in the news

so we painted a little more like George Gittoes do

jaded because we didn't hear them calls coming through

how we'd savor our days if we had to walk in them shoes

countries can't build without support for the youth

they lost when their most important resources abused

forming our views, and not picking up on the cues

inner-city blues stop many from listening to the clues

voices on mute, so we whisper this to you

no time for school, many children be enlisted to be troops

and we walk , thinking that the system got us screwed

like we taught ,just to keep a short distance from the truth

when scores…are born only to be drifting to a noose

when they gone well be saying , lord forgive we never knew

gotta question why many, got there scriptures misconstrued

and why spending on weapons and not assistance is the rule,

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain

Each day we hear the score, before not after shots of war

And the road to him is love, but the love is never more

We're caught up in the pictures that they have shown us

and not the millions of innocents that been blown up

cold hearts disconnecting us from our own blood

for their objectives its best that they blindfold us

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain

We're caught up in the pictures that they have shown us

and not the millions of innocents that been blown up

cold hearts disconnecting us from our own blood

for their objectives its best that they blindfold us

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain.