After all the jacks are in their boxes and the clowns have all gone to bed.
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street, Footsteps dressed in red. And the wind whispers mary. A broom is drearily sweeping up the broken pieces of yesterdays life. Somewhere a queen is weeping, Somewhere a king has no wife. And the wind, it cries mary.
TOM MORELLO
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites.