| Among the ruins I stand
|
| Beneath the quivering moon
|
| Brothers march weapon in hand
|
| To claim this new world in ashes
|
| Superior men and women
|
| Driven by hate for weakness
|
| The scent of kerosene
|
| Flaming bottles and flickknives
|
| They would take everything from us
|
| And leave us to wither away
|
| Erase the past and present
|
| And flood the streets with rats
|
| I’m as sharp as I ever have been
|
| Strong from the shaft
|
| To the tip of the spear’s head
|
| Strong from the shaft
|
| To the tip of the spear’s head
|
| And together storm
|
| The streets in a rage
|
| With the scent of kerosene
|
| With flaming bottles and flickknives
|
| And together storm
|
| The streets in a rage
|
| With the scent of kerosene
|
| With flaming bottles and flickknives |