Blood on my hands

They got the pistol pressed against the back of his head,
Fingers quivering, trigger about to snap back,
They got him playing Russian roulette
With no cards, only fear paying for life,
Another bomb goes off in the back,
The bunker blown, blood gushing from the thousand limbs,
They got him conforming to their values,
Only way to survive,
The night turns to hell; his life shattered in vain,
A million rounds and a pool of blood,
Hands quivering, eighty images flickering in 5 seconds,
So much ethnic cleansing,
They got their back to the wall,
With blood on their hands,
With blood on their hands.

The poor fight to survive,
But political and culture beliefs hold them back,
They got a semi pressed against their chest,
A shot if they refuse to change views,
The country is almost gone,
No more homes, no more shelter,
Only the graves to hide in,
The country is the prisoner of war,
This destruction, poisoned within,
They got their backs to the wall,
With blood on their hands,
With blood on their hands.