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 there's 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 there's 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  There's just the albatross   Flying . . .    September, 20, 1990: Early in the morning....