| As you pour yourself a scotch
|
| Crush a roach or check your watch
|
| As your hands adjust your tie
|
| People die
|
| In the towns with funny names
|
| Hit by bullets, caught in flames
|
| By and large not knowing why
|
| People die
|
| And in small places you don’t know of
|
| Yet big for having no chance to scream
|
| Or say Goodbye
|
| People die
|
| chorus: LA LA LA…
|
| Let me know…
|
| People die as you elect
|
| New apostles of neglect, self restraint
|
| Whereby people die too far off to practice love
|
| For thy neighbour, brother Slav
|
| Where your Cherubs dread to fly,
|
| People die
|
| chorus: LA LA lA…
|
| Let me know…
|
| While the statues disagree
|
| Cain’s version, history for its fuel tends to buy
|
| Those who die
|
| As you watch the athlets score
|
| Or check your latest statement
|
| Or sing your child a lullaby
|
| People die
|
| Time, whose sharp, bloodthirsty quill
|
| Parts the killed from those who kill
|
| Will pronounce the latter tribe
|
| As your type |