The dirt is on our hands
And sober thought demands
Paced shuffling of our spades
Oh how often should we play
We don't care what their spirits say
What their ghosts will say
What the dead may say
Whose are these sacred rites?
The dead don't need their eyes
Why is this sacred land?
The dead don't need their hands
Whose are these sacred eyes?
Their pow'r can hypnotize
Whose are these sacred hands?
They tear us down into the sand
The blood is on our hands
And sane reasoning demands
Blindfolds be put on our blades
And the steps that we must take