Leaders of small palaces
Gather to scour the planet
For things to dispose
And those who are left over
Panhandle and pillage
For what's not too burnt
From the blow
Oh, what a landmine
Is keeping us all from the finish
Oh, what a fixed race
Run just to find the beginning
What if it's just a scrimmage?
Small minded dictators
Have shut down the playing field
Claiming it all for their own
Now our land's infertile
They've scattered the earth with seed
Planting wherever it grows
Oh, what a landmine
Has shattered the image we're given
Oh, what a cruel game
We seem to hold to religion
What if it's just a scrimmage?
Oh, what a landmine
Is keeping us all from the finish
Oh, what a cruel game
We seem to hold to religion
Oh, it's all just a scrimmage