![](https://ccmixter.org/content/Zenboy1955/poster-buddha-ankommen-135550__2018_08_31_10_45_08_UTC_93x94.jpg)
To Feel Innocent (preview)
Zenboy1955
Sorry about the vocals.
To Feel Innocent
When good men rise up to right an awful wrong,
And peace—again—has lost its’ way,
And when all the world,
Has its’ battle flags unfurled,
Then the only thing left standing in our way,
On that day,
Is our innocence.
There are things that we all know must be done,
‘Cause no choice is what is left today,
But deep down we know,
What we’ll reap is what we sow,
So it doesn’t matter what we do or say,
We will pay,
With our innocence.
Rise up: your heart,
Rise up: your head,
We must defend,
Freedom’s tomorrows.
Rise up: your voice,
Rise up: your arms,
Rise with the righteous ones today.
But when the righteous kill,
It’s still human blood they spill,
And they spend their days out searching,
Trying to find a way…
To feel innocent.
In the end, we all know how they’ll write the tale:
Right has won, and evil Wrong has lost,
And the boys will return,
While our conscience stings and burns,
And we’ll tally up, again, what freedom cost:
Headstone and cross,
And our innocence.
There is no innocence.
Where is our innocence?
To Feel Innocent
When good men rise up to right an awful wrong,
And peace—again—has lost its’ way,
And when all the world,
Has its’ battle flags unfurled,
Then the only thing left standing in our way,
On that day,
Is our innocence.
There are things that we all know must be done,
‘Cause no choice is what is left today,
But deep down we know,
What we’ll reap is what we sow,
So it doesn’t matter what we do or say,
We will pay,
With our innocence.
Rise up: your heart,
Rise up: your head,
We must defend,
Freedom’s tomorrows.
Rise up: your voice,
Rise up: your arms,
Rise with the righteous ones today.
But when the righteous kill,
It’s still human blood they spill,
And they spend their days out searching,
Trying to find a way…
To feel innocent.
In the end, we all know how they’ll write the tale:
Right has won, and evil Wrong has lost,
And the boys will return,
While our conscience stings and burns,
And we’ll tally up, again, what freedom cost:
Headstone and cross,
And our innocence.
There is no innocence.
Where is our innocence?