And every soldier's face is burnt,
|
and it's a mask of withered flesh.
|
And their hands have turned to rifles now,
|
and they kill everything and anything that they touch.
|
|
So watch the trees swaying in the breeze,
|
keeping beat to the butchery.
|
|
And every subway station's wrecked,
|
it shuts down and off.
|
And business men in a panic:
|
"Here they come! Here they come!"
|
And they collect power killing love.
|
|
So watch the bat,
|
a picnic death camp.
|
Keeping beat to the butchery.
|
|
So children come burn the skyscrapers
|
and the cities alive,
|
Come clean within you.
|
And the metronome clicks like new,
|
and the metronome clicks over our skulls.
|
|
And every single window pane is smashed,
|
and every cop is smiling broken glass.
|
Here's a place where the soldiers came,
|
to rake up all that they could take.
|
|
So toss another bottle,
|
pull another pin.
|
Light up the sky in a butchery.
|
|
So children come burn the skyscrapers
|
and the cities alive,
|
Come clean within you.
|
And the metronome clicks like new,
|
and the metronome clicks over our skulls.
|
|
-----------------
|
Metronomes
|
| The Blood Brothers |
