One, Two, Three

One puff, two puff,
You'll be stuffed in a coffin,
With the clothes your wearing
Baghdad, Trinidad & Tabago,
wherever, whenever,
You can only run for so long.

Back in the storm,
Acid falls, cleansing our souls,
A buckett of quarters
locked in a cage,
She rattles herself,
Through the underground
Where the danger occurs,
Filth, poor, dead,
Collision of culture,
Her mind shattered with devestation,
Only losses fill the columns,
Her purse snatched,
But she doesn't give a fuck,
She's got nothing,
Nothing left by her side,
The wind rattles her mind.

One shot, two shots,
Another lying on the floor,
All the good's taken,
Her Identity stolen.

The centre of the storm,
What else can cleanse this soul?
A movement, everybody running for their lives,
A new disaster,
Everything bombed and everyone tortured,
Running, running for which sacred shelter?
Running, running for which promised land?
The Promise land?
Behind those gates,
Another structure,
A new system capitalizing on the sick.

One shot, two shots,
And the World goes round and round.