Blood, pieces of body, burned corpse, they were human, they were alive
They had a happy family; they were mom, dad, son or daughter.
They won’t speak to their loved ones again; they won’t smile, walk or drive
We just count them now, dead body no.1, 2…., or does it really matter?
We cry, we mourn and of course we pray we should never be there, anytime
And if we ever be, we need angels to save us, WE, ‘The weak bunch of fools’.
We want our heroes, their lives, their blood, to make us stand and sublime
We are so afraid to die, so we keep quite even when the hell breaks loose.
We get angry, we get hurt, but we can’t get ready to kill and ready to die
We can’t hit them hard back, we can’t thrash them for their lives,
We can just be silent audience; we can only cheers the fighters high
Can see the unfortunate ones body art, pierced, with bullets, splinters and knives.
How long we’ll be feeble and scared how many times we need to be rescued?
Time for us to stand together, hand in hand, and erase all our disgrace.
To tear them apart and to give our heroes and country, a real tribute.
As we can see clearly, this time, ‘The Terror Has A Face’.