Sense Of Hate

Colour the skin in red,

why the black man becomes a Fed.

Feed the female to the gator

and her bones preserved for later.

Tell the baby he is wrong,

cut his hands off for what he's done.

Put a blind man's dog to sleep,

tell the widow not to weep.

This cuts too deep.

Put a peace sign upon your breast

and make freedom some kind of quest.

Tell the world that they are wrong,

in a poem or a song.

Take a stand and kick some butt,

before the next one takes a cut.

Be aware and not afraid,

there's too much sense of hate.

Wish you were away, colour the skin in red.

Why the black man becomes a Fed, noone knows,

but me, it's called democracy.

And tell the baby, and he is wrong,

and cut his hands off for what he's done.

And put a blind man's dog, his dog to sleep,

and tell the widow not to weep.