wash the dried blood from these strings
so i can close this one pristine
now let me summarize the theme

on the platform a guitar case hiding old rhymes
a pillow for one more assassin killing time
but wanting more than bouncing back and forth on jersey transit lines
he strums a chord so that the bored commuter throng
can hear his song

these bastards drove the world to dystopian hell
and we're just waiting for the next train
the newsstands never offer the obvious news
that our carnage is coming back our way

so i will fill up each lung with napalm and nitrogen
because i'm ready to march up to the battlefields today
and my tongue will be the flame that torches their campaign
oh yes it will be one great afternoon
hell yes it will be one great afternoon
when my words can pacify a whole platoon

we've all gone insane riding on this runaway train
hurtling us towards a dark, dark age
where war and famine rage without end until we all are gone
the smell of fresh-cut lawns mixing with fear
that's where denial breeds
because the suffering isn't out on their own street
that's where I freak out
i'm right in their faces and i scream loud
we cannot sustain this
our future is on the line and we must fight to survive
and i'll shout this as i ride like revere on the masspike
and i'll find out what my voice can do