| I have your see-eye have here is my hand
|
| As blue and cold as?
|
| Go for a pound
|
| Ten ground and down
|
| When the morning after coughs a crippled mile
|
| Curse the morning after, Tuesday’s child
|
| Wake into the hard song, gold in my hand
|
| Engage report pending, promised land
|
| Here is my heart on hand, sharp as a blade
|
| One down, I say two
|
| I close?
|
| Go for a pound
|
| Ten ground and down
|
| Careful when your skin returns to dirt and gold
|
| Foreign bastards, dress the centerfold
|
| Million drool and madness, seem to start the race
|
| Tuesday’s child removes her guilty face
|
| I’m not going to take this shit anymore
|
| I won’t have it in my house
|
| You see, I’ve seen it all before
|
| Ten down and hundreds more
|
| Crimes remain credentials, dirt remains sublime
|
| Silence and sedation undermined
|
| Fake the bastard’s outcry, nail it to his chest
|
| Bone and skin descending, burns the best
|
| I’m not gonna have this anymore
|
| You see I’ve heard it all before
|
| I won’t be beaten to the ground
|
| Ten down and then ten more |