| Look alive, gentlemen
|
| Or fake your deaths; |
| your wounds undressed beneath your costumes
|
| Some are so well rehearsed
|
| For hearses it hurts, always the first to wave the white flag
|
| And barricade themselves
|
| In false pretenses, fox holed in trenches
|
| Forged casualties with casual pleas
|
| Dying to please the enemy
|
| We die to stay alive, we kill to survive
|
| We are the corps of corpses
|
| We are up in arms and armed
|
| Bring all the king’s horses and all the king’s men
|
| Push on, plod on, these legs like pistons pumping forward motion
|
| Convalescent men in uniform
|
| We have fallen to friendly fire, shrapnel freckles our spine
|
| Still our feet fall one by one
|
| We are the corps of corpses
|
| We are up in arms and armed
|
| Bring all the king’s horses and all the king’s men
|
| We were led to lead lovers, while marching to the beat
|
| We were led to lead lovers, we kissed so well
|
| The cannon’s calling our name
|
| I hear her singing to me
|
| In morse code
|
| «This is our revolution!
|
| To arms! |
| To arms!
|
| This is a revolution!»
|
| We are the corps of corpses
|
| We are up in arms and armed |