spoken:
Where do I go to find peace?
Where do I go to find peace?
Where do I go to find peace?
Where do I go to find peace?
Where do I go to find peace?
Where do I go to find peace?
Peace, peace, peace...
Some say peace is never won without a fight or a struggle
Or war or k**ing and all that
I don't know of any peace ever taken through battle cries
How can a victorious peace-winning warmonger ever
Or even enjoy his profited lose that was once his
Joyous captives when his peace can be a**ured
Only by his constant day through night watch
Even the slaves can at least close the door of their toilets
A conqueror of peace could not let his hair down really
For he would have to guard himself with his ears and his mind
To even move his bowels in a healthy manner
Or to note the slightest unusual sound outside
Of his little pools of urine splashes
There might be a peace-loving slave, a peace-loving slave
Resentful at having been told that his slavery
Is a new kind of freedom and peace
So where do I go to find peace?
Where do I go to find peace?
Where do I go to find?
Where do I go?
I've tried the local bar till my head spun me
To my poor realties of the nearest liquor store
Legal d**, hop and all that
I found no peace
I found no peace and even now on its belly
Or the free-for-alls that chased my livelihood
I know about k**ing too
In childhood the one left standing bloody from a razor-sharp row
Was still at less peace than the dead he was precisely responsible for
And that dude was war of a sort
I thought then
Where were the guardians of our peaceful land of justice that could stop such a melee?
I found even less peace on their arrival
Armed guardians that the townspeople of Watts paid their hard-earned wages to
And to protect and guard their children's safety with k**er's weapons
As a child, I blamed the townspeople out there in Watts or Germany or here
Or wherever peace is enforced by primitive sources
Guns as barbaric as his inventor's fear of himself
For not having ever made peace in himself
And still, I stand in awe of murderers
Still now, as when I was a child
Because the history of all mankind is guilty
Guilty of his inner fear of himself
Of the gun he made to protect the inside he does not even know
So where do I go to find peace?
I've had glimpses of it all, all the time alone with myself
And now I go to my beloved
Lock my door to your guns and that wasted noise of people seeking at peace together
Without having ever loved themselves enough
To understand the reasons other children are born
Besides our own