In three months and a day your homes will plague you

Your paychecks will haunt you

And your love life will own you

This is it

We'll expect the cost (we'll expect the cost)



Spring does not exist, neither does Jesus

To whom inquires first

While you sit their praying hard to a god that doesn't exist

As your head follows down

It's in your mouth

Forty years, into nights

Child, this will end your life

Forty years of your life



A bad taste

A terrible sense of smell

Fool yourself

For the books your children bleed for



We're going to throw the burning bodies

Down the wishing well . . .



During a raping you can't get back your pennies

During a raping you can't hold yourself on trial



All we are, are fitter men

Cast us as violent

All we know can't hold us back

Beautiful children with reckless hands

Will doubt them . . .