The Good in Me Is Dead

I sit at the border, this blanket my cover
I wait for my sister, I wait for my mother
The rain it is falling, but I do not feel it
I cant feel nothing, any more
A month ago they took my father
The village was asleep
Put a Russian gun to his temple
And put him in a jeep...(didn't get his breakfast)
If you put that lens in my face again
I swear I'll break your head
Sir the good in me is dead
In the hills of Prestina, my family worked the land
The images flow through my ticking mind, and fall like grains of sand
My brothers in those hills now, I saw him lying there
His eyes they did not see me, as my fingers touched his hair
As I kissed his dirty hair
If this is all that's left now
There's nothing to be said
And the good in me is dead
Last night the bombs came raining, I swear I saw his face
He came running cross the fields to me, in a safe and peaceful place
I woke shaking and thinking
About love that's in the world
And if there is no bigger picture
How its all obscene, absurd
So pass me a revolver
Pass me a book I've read
Pass me a fresh cut flower
And ask me what I dread
That the good in me is dead
I sit at the border, this blanket my cover
I wait for my sister, I wait for my mother
I wait for my mother
I must wait for my mother