A third country
In a hotel by the sea
We eat canapés and drink champagne
As the Moon winks in the bay
There is no suffering here
There is only the night bird's song
And two old fools in love

A third country
Behind wrought iron and razor wire
For the favor of a distant power
Cages hold beaten souls
A thousand miles away
All those peacefully asleep
Should pray the need doesn't grow
And the meanings don't change

A third country
Splayed across a pitted land
Like a Sun-burnt martinet
Playing lovers with his hand
In this splenic atmosphere
Placed like madness on your heads
Psychic panic weaves in
While compassion leaks out

A third country
Arises in a dream
Where bullets are precious things
Only fit for the skulls of men
Who profit from this suffering
Has it always been
That the rich and death embrace
Like two old fools in love?