Blood blood all around

The land is crying out

All men are dead underneath the sands

And noone understands



Gold gold all is sold

Ten thousands have been slain

They stole their gold and destroyed their souls

The prayers were all in vain



War war behind the shore

All men are on the run

They burned the earth until there

But a wasteland in the sun

A wasteland in the sun



But there's the albatross

Flying circles through the wind

The silent master of this land

Far beyond the southern cross

Nobody heard his cries

Wailing sadly through the skies

Now his voice from up above

Is slowly dying



Home home we wanna go home

The beach is bleak and empty

All has burnt to ashes

Nothing will grow

We wanna go home



But there's the albatross

Flying circles through the wind

The silent master of this land

Far beyond the southern cross

Nobody heard his cries

Wailing sadly through the skies

Now his voice from up above

Is slowly dying

There's just the albatross

Flying . . .



September, 20, 1990: early in the morning....