Watch them speak in thunderclaps 

No one more or much as Jack 

It's a knock 'em dead show: Pipes and joints, greased hinge and bone 

One more for the slaughterhouse 

CHANT 

Force from the butcher, machine-like 

One mighty hand at shoulder height 

Feet tread heavy on black floor, Look at the breadth of those fingers 

One more for the Chopping board 

CHANT 

Cast me in this violent light, Pull my hands from my eyes 

CHANT 

Thunderclaps fly through low-light 

Jack sits amongst them in the sky 

There's no place here for me tonight but Jack needs no invite 

Lunging for the meat and prize Lunging with his roving eyes 

CHANT 

Hours go by In thunderous form, I can't go on I can't go on 

RANT 

I'll do myself in, I'll pick up this thing 

Sits heavy in my hand 

I'll do myself in