| Put your guns out on the table
|
| Throw your bullets on the floor
|
| This weary old house can’t take it anymore
|
| From the ovens in the kitchen
|
| To the chains out in the dirt
|
| Rope hanging in the bedroom
|
| That’s some of our dirty work
|
| The distant sleeping shadows
|
| That lie out in the yard
|
| The wind that distorts the meanings
|
| Of who we really are
|
| Saluting of ourselves
|
| As we pass by our mirrors
|
| This show of phony adulation
|
| Just masquerades all our fears
|
| So we open up our eyes at midnight
|
| See the setting of the sun
|
| Foundation is crumbling
|
| The inner structure’s gone
|
| Used up by corruption
|
| And the passage of time
|
| We hope we’ve got some fight left
|
| Cause our children
|
| Our children are dying
|
| So we think that forgiveness
|
| Is a God given right
|
| And equality for all
|
| Is just a waste of our time
|
| With our nickel plated Jesus
|
| Chained around are necks
|
| Handing out verses of scripture
|
| Like we wrote it down ourselves
|
| Respect that we once had
|
| Went up the water spout
|
| Tried to keep it secret
|
| But the secret was found out
|
| Got to thinking high and mighty
|
| Like everything was a lock
|
| Some now say this house
|
| Can be taken without a shot
|
| So the hole gets dug deeper
|
| With every wedding bell
|
| And we sell each other down the road
|
| Until there’s nothing left to sell
|
| And slowly but surely
|
| We disappear without a trace
|
| We point our fingers at each other
|
| And say what the hell happened to this place
|
| Without a shot
|
| Without a shot
|
| Without a shot |