| The bastards meeting once again
|
| Disputing territories, breach the lines
|
| They’ve drawn
|
| Deactivation of the sane
|
| Call out the troops, the mothers kiss their sons
|
| Never coming home
|
| A lovely day to start a war
|
| Sale of a twisted story in a sheep’s disguise
|
| Tax out the rich, enslave the poor
|
| All sirens blowing as the rockets fly
|
| Into the sky
|
| When the sky comes down, run for
|
| Cover to the underground
|
| When the sky comes down, run for cover
|
| Running on, and on, and on
|
| So long, it’s time to say goodbye
|
| Barely a man, now locked and loaded for the kill
|
| Seats at the pub shall be denied
|
| Taken by those who criticize them still
|
| Old enough to die
|
| When the sky conies down, run for
|
| Cover to the underground
|
| When the sky comes down, run for cover
|
| Running on, and on, and on
|
| So long…
|
| A lovely day to say goodbye
|
| Dog tags and body bags, the fathers
|
| Fight their tears
|
| The bastards' games that we have lost funding
|
| The grief machine for coming years
|
| When the sky comes down, run for
|
| Cover to the underground
|
| When the sky comes down, run for cover
|
| Running on, and on, and on
|
| So long, it’s time to start a war |