Ruins Of Time

Blood on the floor in the morning.
Somebody died from someones hand.
Loud were the speeches and warnings
- silent the prayers of the friends.

Small towns they soon become bigger.
This one is smaller this time.
Small was that finger on the trigger
- lonesome that shot in the night.

May all the suffering and all the crime
just fall like dust on the ruins of time

Some have to grow up in prison.
Can you tell me what it´s like
to make up your mind there in prison
with voices that yell: "Never mind!"?

And all that goes on around you
is tiring and simple as hell
and all that goes on inside you
- what´s right or wrong you can´t tell.

Freedom is a word without meaning
if you only know it from books.
Some try to find it on the ceiling
with a wire, a chair and a hook.