| Got some boys who were upset
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| They were headed out to India Point
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| Two in the bucket backseat of the Pinto said
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| «You could lose your mind for all your mind is worth.»
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| One got up on a soapbox and proceeded to take his point
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| Said, «What god’s are you to take this
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| And turn to blood»
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| 'Cause the revolutionaries on the rooftop
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| Climb down to the cemeteries
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| Where the missionaries line up
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| For the mercy of the military’s time
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| Treat bodies like the bullet ridden clothes on a clothesline
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| 'Cause the prey’s huntin' a hunter in his own blind
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| And it won’t be the last time
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| We use them eyes to see
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| Them all hanging
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| I believe I can make you whole
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| See them all go back again
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| And I don’t think we’ll ever know
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| How it goes and why it runs down
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| To the place we often bled
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| 'Cause it’s a manifest destiny
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| Like a genocide recipe
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| Telling the knowledge
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| That rests in me to fear my own race
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| Challenge your good
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| And not the thick of your callous
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| Don’t underestimate the fate of preordained malice
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| Where are my boots
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| And where the hell is my balance
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| The hell, you did
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| Come down from your palace
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| To see us all
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| Reaching up
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| To see us all
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| Reaching up
|
| 'Cause the revolutionaries on the rooftop
|
| Climb down to the cemeteries
|
| Where the missionaries line up
|
| For the mercy of the military’s time
|
| Treat bodies like the bullet ridden clothes on a clothesline
|
| 'Cause the praised hunter are during his own blind
|
| And it won’t be the last time
|
| We use them eyes to see
|
| Them all hanging
|
| I believe I can make you whole
|
| See them all go back again
|
| And I don’t think we’ll ever know
|
| How it goes and why it runs down
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| To the place
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| 'Cause I’m slowly turning in
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| Don’t you have to go?
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| Don’t you have to go?
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| Don’t you have to go, child?
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| Don’t you have to go?
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| Take them to your cousins land
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| Where sweet Madeleine has got his hand
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| And she’s asking the last man to fall
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| Don’t fall
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| When I’m listening
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| Holy water
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| Go ask your friend
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| And may your fever be gone
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| When I’m listing
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| Holy Llama
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| Go ask your end
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| And may your freedom be gone |