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A mother said son get some sleep, I’ll wake you before we land
But as the words slipped out her beautiful child was lifeless in her hands
No time to scream no less to pray; row forty-six had had its day
And down below in the fields of green was painted a surreal scene

If there’s blood on the madman’s hands, will the Kremlin crumble into shifting sands
If he taps and clicks and pushes go, will the world be a witness to a firework show?

Is this the straw that broke the union’s back and turned the blue sky black
There’s no more wishing upon a star, this is two hundred and ninety eight lives too far

A camera pans to sun-kissed hills where a bearded man shows off military skills
But I’m sick and tired of all this doom and gloom spewing from a screen in my living room

Is this the straw that broke the union’s back and turned the blue sky black?
The families are waiting at the gate, this is two hundred and ninety eight lives too late

In a penthouse high a party starts
There’s Oligarchs and bejewelled tarts
Merriment and spoils-a-plenty
While the west goes dark and the fuel pipes are empty

Batten down the hatches, this world’s a-moving way too fast
And happiness will have to go, it’s an echo of the past
St. Swithin’s days are numbered now, I see the writing on the wall
And the western world will tumble down and the east will have a ball
As the summer rains fall

Now deathly still strapped to her seat, the mother prepares to meet
Posthumously the gentleman who took the world from right under her feet
For the wings of life that broke and fell – sent her family to a bloody hell
There’s no more wishing upon a star, this is two hundred and ninety eight
Two hundred and ninety eight lives too late

Copyright ©2015 Martell & Moray

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