Balled Fists Songtext
von Witheren

Balled fists in pockets
Browsing hope stalls
At the markets
With gritted teeth...

Holding back the words
Like sheathed swords
Rusted to the hilt
Waiting for blood to be spilt...

And to be drawn once more
To cut through the quiet
Desperation of our times

It′s hardly a conspiracy
The obscenity imposed
By forces we endorse
For fear of worse
Or preoccupation
With our more immediate course


But what can there be done?
Hope for something else long gone
Our prospects nearly as traumatic
As the pain inflicted throughout all history
Still aching in our collective memory
As more's heaped on every day

Sword in its sheath
By my side
Grind my teeth
As my hand
Remains still
I must fight
My own will
My own thirst
For justice
I watch this
As I did
As I do
Every time
For unseen
I must stay
To live on
′Til the day
Of revenge


But what can there be done?
Hope for something else long gone
Our prospects nearly as traumatic
As the pain inflicted throughout all history
Still aching in our collective memory
As more's heaped on every day