Saint Patricks

Flush of green on the ground
I thought my children were safe and sound
Now something crawls on the ground at my feet

I was in a struggling war
It seems as though god has shut his door
And now theres no use for knocking

Here comes the men in green
You know he isnt going to answer

The bullets destroyed most of the beauty
Whats in his mouth, a leather bit
He bites down hard and it leaves marks
On the floor theres crimsonred
This is my flesh and he breaks the bread
Oh god get me outta of this hell