The dial tone sings on;

The tribute to the ever forgotten;

An eternity away, but

We’re dropping bombs on ‘em.

Our thumbs in the eyes of nations;

Prostituting suffering and preaching salvation;

You’d best dance bitch,

A tear could get you medicine.

The scars tell the score;

Mere letters in the bible of war;

I’m sorry son; we want your candy, so

You’re gonna have to die some more.

You’re too old for compassion;

Born in a world we’re destroying;

Your Mother rang, tell her this:

Better luck next time, don’t call again.

We come together like family;

To stamp on the skull of humanity;

Complain when we’ve got shit on our shoe, but

Bloody hands are a fashion accessory.

The pigs have got to get fatter;

The blind leading the farmer;

If you want to see tomorrow, then

Try not to choke on your laughter.