The Killing Fields of Sixty-Five

I see no hope on these ancient wall
Thick with limescale, stained with apathy

A bathroom shuttered by a blind hate
The eyes ripped from us before our birth

A seven-digit sentence shackled us
Between the ruins of bygone glories

Fattened with hate and blatant lies
An ignorant generation slaughtered

We serve our purpose, tick the box
Mourning dry bones to forget the flesh

Drunk on propaganda we raise our hands
They suck our blood as we maul our neighbour 

You led us here and blamed another
In the killing fields of sixty-five