Bosnia Tune

As you pour yourself a scotch

Crush a roach or check your watch

As your hands adjust your tie people die

In the towns with funny names

Hit by bullets, caught in flames

By and large not knowing why people die

And in small places you don't know of

Yet big for having no chance to scream

Or say good-bye people die

Chorus: La, la... Let me know

People die as you elect

New apostles of neglect, self restraint

Whereby people die Too far off to practice love

For thy neighbour, brother Slav

Where your cherubs dread to fly people die

Chorus...

While the statues disagree

Cain's version, history for its fuel tends to buy

Those who die

As you watch the athletes score

Or check your latest statement

Or sing your child a lullaby people die

Time, whose sharp, bloodthirsty quill

Parts the killed from those who kill

Will pronounce the latter tribe

As your type.

2nd Version:

As you pour yourself a scotch,

crush a roach, or scratch your crotch,

as your hand adjusts your tie,

people die.

In the towns with funny names,

hit by bullets, caught in flames,

by and large not knowing why,

people die.

In small places you don't know

of, yet big for having no

chance to scream or say good-bye,

people die.

People die as you elect

brand-new dudes who preach neglect,

self-restraint, etc. –whereby

people die.

Too far off to practice love

for thy neighbor/brother Slav,

where your cherubs dread to fly,

people die.

While the statues disagree,

Cain's version, history

for its fuel tends to buy

those who die.

As you watch the athletes score,

check your latest statement, or

sing your child a lullaby,

people die.

Time, whose sharp bloodthirsty quill

parts the killed from those who kill,

will pronounce the latter band

as your brand.