Blood blood all around
The land is crying out
All men are dead underneath the sands
And noone understands

Gold gold all is sold
Ten thousands have been slain
They stole their gold and destroyed their souls
The prayers were all in vain

War war behind the shore
All men are on the run
They burned the earth until there
But a wasteland in the sun
A wasteland in the sun

But theres the albatross
Flying circles through the wind
The silent master of this land
Far beyond the southern cross
Nobody heard his cries
Wailing sadly through the skies
Now his voice from up above
Is slowly dying

Home home we wanna go home
The beach is bleak and empty
All has burnt to ashes
Nothing will grow
We wanna go home

But theres the albatross
Flying circles through the wind
The silent master of this land
Far beyond the southern cross
Nobody heard his cries
Wailing sadly through the skies
Now his voice from up above
Is slowly dying
Theres just the albatross
Flying . . .

September, 20, 1990: early in the morning....