| Hate city rivals first pulse and then freakola
|
| Dreaming of redemption, no end
|
| To the living edit, the sound of amputation
|
| Or the centrifugal pull of an endless bend
|
| Until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| There’s a shimmering dog sayin' danger what’s at work here
|
| The in growing twitch of faceless laughter
|
| A cause without end to serve forever
|
| The missionary madness of the sacrificial lamb
|
| Until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Not until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Not until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| On the hero’s tomb is written
|
| Not what he was, but what he should’ve been
|
| And nothing you can do will change the circumstances
|
| Just a mild infuriation with statistics of sin
|
| Until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Not until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Not until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| A circular lie in a calibrated order
|
| Weathering time with salt 'n' water
|
| Tears that you cry are your endeavor
|
| To break into the madness of imaginary lines, until
|
| You shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Not until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| 'Til you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Not until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| 'Til you shoot, shoot that rebel king down
|
| Not until you shoot, shoot that rebel king down |