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
. .
Were 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 wreck less hands
Will doubt them