Painting Lyrics

Crisis
Observers feel
For one victim
From two parties guilty

With cold repose
With inward hate
Some defend both
Some abstain

Try to pretend
The monster's intent
To silence with violence
And retch not from scent

Genuine glee
Thrill of teenage mischief
Grown men swarm
To rip at the hetacomb

For one hundred lost
Is three the cost?
Milled to brown mire
Quenched their ire

With film and sound
Paint this scene
Which exploits your
Culture's private memes

To taste a glimpse
Of passions clandestine
Simulate and go to
Your own Palestine