|
On the catapult you're still alive, the tar rests deeper inside |
|
A gift, a wound that's wrapped and proud |
|
The highlight of your tour |
|
The end came quickly with war |
|
We're left with billions of open sores |
|
Limbs gone, infections, addictions, injections |
|
Made babies born blind and weak |
|
Melting in the sweat of agent orange every day |
|
The hook is horse and threats, now being sentenced to a field |
|
And short were the changes in air |
|
Like stacks that are rising through cases of stairs |
|
The lights in the city reflect on the levy |
|
Phrased illness you know once again |
|
And the guards were yelling our names |
|
As we pushed their hands away |
|
We're cowards, we're dead if we don't |
|
Kill the ones maintaining the waste |
