| We’re diggin' up hatchets today
|
| And sharpening the blades
|
| In case, a stitch of hope remains
|
| In this hell that we’ve raised
|
| Hey! |
| We’re witnessing the waking of the dead
|
| We’re ripping all the wires from our heads
|
| We’re pumping all the poison from our veins
|
| And scrubbing out these wicked stains
|
| We’re burying mercy and grace
|
| In unmarked shallow graves
|
| Today, the piper must be paid
|
| For the tune that he played
|
| Hey! |
| We’re witnessing the waking of the dead
|
| We’re ripping all the wires from our heads
|
| We’re pumping all the poison from our veins
|
| And scrubbing out these wicked stains
|
| Let us pause and be thankful for this evening
|
| And the fact that we are breathing
|
| Maybe living has a meaning after all
|
| There’s a plan for us lunatics and liars
|
| We have faulty gears and wires
|
| They can’t save us but they’ll do the best they can
|
| Hey! |
| We’re witnessing the waking of the dead
|
| We’re ripping all the wires from our heads
|
| We’re pumping all the poison from our veins
|
| And scrubbing out these wicked stains |