| Crank that siren high
|
| Drain the wellspring dry
|
| Map out your coordinates
|
| Send out scouts by day
|
| Dole out mercenary pay
|
| For restless young subordinates
|
| It never hurts to give thanks to the local gods
|
| You never know who might be hungry
|
| It never hurts to scan the windows on the upper floor
|
| I saw a face there once before when I was younger
|
| Set the torch aflame
|
| Call the night by name
|
| Stake out your dark position
|
| Lie in wait
|
| By the gleaming city gate
|
| Try not to lose sight of the mission
|
| It never hurts to give thanks to the broken bones
|
| You had to use to build your ladder
|
| Moment close at hand
|
| Half of you will never understand
|
| And it doesn’t really matter
|
| Big smile on my face
|
| Capsule just in case
|
| Underneath my tongue there
|
| Voices on the breeze
|
| I heard voices once like these when I was younger
|
| Blood rushing to my face
|
| I know that sweet warm taste
|
| And the bitter trace
|
| Storm right down that hill
|
| If I don’t, no one will
|
| Follow me right through the chaos
|
| This whole house is doomed
|
| Even the bit-parts get consumed
|
| Prepare a grave for Menelaus
|
| It never hurts to give thanks to the navigator
|
| Even when he’s spitting out random numbers
|
| I knew what those figures meant
|
| And what they hoped to represent
|
| When I was younger |