The Blood You Seize Drips From Your Hands

The blood you seize drips from your hands,
On cold plots tilled by slaves of thee,
As outcasts tread on burning sands.

Exterminating native bands,
As oil sets fire to the sea;
The blood you seize drips from your hands.

Children die in distant lands;
Let us grow fat on wearied knees,
As outcasts tread on burning sands.

Such chaos so carefully planned,
And you all choose to let it be;
The blood you seize drips from your hands

They claim to know it all firsthand.
Why can't I feel them blinding me,
As outcasts tread on burning sands?