The Road Is Lost - A Broken Silence, Tim Freedman

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain

Each day we hear the score, before not after shots of war

And the road to him is love, but the love is never more

Wishing it all to end enraged by the slaughtering

thoughts explode like my heads a grenade and I drawed

the pin talking to men with one choice to run off or defend

must punish to win, gotta let that gun off for ya kin the only laws

is 'no laws at all' once it begins from the smell of blood violence is absorbed

into the skin and the thoughts of kids caught up should torture people to death

now freedoms with them see if they morph and see any sense

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother,

playing outside in the rain Each day we hear the score,

before not after shots of war And the road to him is love,

but the love is never more

Not all true pictures of war are drawn in the news

so we painted a little more like George Gittoes

do jaded because we didn’t hear them calls

coming through how we’d savor our days if we

had to walk in them shoes countries can’t build

without support for the youth they lost when

their most important resources abused forming our views,

and not picking up on the cues inner-city blues

stop many from listening to the clues voices on mute,

so we whisper this to you no time for school,

many children be enlisted to be troops and we walk,

thinking that the system got us screwed like we taught,

just to keep a short distance from the truth when scores…

are born only to be drifting to a noose when they gone well be saying,

lord forgive we never knew gotta question why many,

got there scriptures misconstrued and why spending on weapons and not

assistance is the rule,

Can you picture a little boy,

dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother,

playing outside in the rain

Each day we hear the score,

before not after shots of war

And the road to him is love,

but the love is never more

We’re caught up in the pictures that they

have shown us and not the millions of innocents

that been blown up cold hearts disconnecting

us from our own blood for their objectives

its best that they blindfold us

Can you picture a little boy,

dragging wood down the lane?

Grandma waiting for him brother,

playing outside in the rain

We’re caught up in the pictures that they have

shown us and not the millions of innocents

that been blown up cold hearts disconnecting

us from our own blood