| The trenches dug and filled with innocence
|
| They live, they die
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| And fall with pride
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| A blood red sky, you see the colours fly
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| Fooled by the powers behind
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| Feeding us lies
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| They’re marching on, no matter what the cost
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| Their head held high
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| And don’t ask why
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| A freak parade with a dollar cost
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| They’re walled in an end of the wars
|
| We’re going down, down, down
|
| We’re falling one by one
|
| Yeah, twenty-one guns makes it worth a price
|
| But do we care about the body count?
|
| Twenty-one guns makes it worth a price
|
| But do we care about the body count?
|
| Oooh, don’t think so
|
| They’re moving forward on their tired feet
|
| They live, they die
|
| And fall with pride
|
| The politicians gathered for the feast
|
| They all wear the mark of the beast
|
| We’re going down, down, down
|
| We’re falling one by one
|
| Yeah, twenty-one guns makes it worth a price
|
| But do we care about the body count?
|
| Down, down, down
|
| We’re falling one by one
|
| Yeah, twenty-one guns makes it worth a price
|
| But do we care about the body count?
|
| Oh, no, no, no
|
| They won’t back down
|
| Keep on waging on
|
| And the wheels keep spinning around
|
| Yeah, twenty-one guns makes it worth a price
|
| But do we care about the body count?
|
| Down, down, down
|
| We’re falling one by one
|
| Yeah, twenty-one guns makes it worth a price
|
| But do we care about the body count?
|
| Twenty-one guns makes it worth a price
|
| But do we care about the body count? |