may the water strike you softly, whispered the pale god giver, talismans against protection are multiplying in that place and I feel sick. did you know I can't stop? the road is to fast, the people too human
they that left the flowers behind them never can look back
cuz that little child must have picked them up in her glorious day of living
lets hope she wasn't the one, who the paper showed in blue blood, laying on the floor, she couldn't see no more, the explosion shook the earth to destruction and
Gandhi is dead
and all the paper could do was show a portrait of a dead child while we cried tears of wine
that we saved for to drink the next day in celebration of that sick dog who had been there with the child, he could have saved her, but in the way we are now, we let them die
to stop the pain and now the carpets blue with the stain and I'm sick on myself
save me, please
we're all dead
and we don't know it
W.C.M.S.
that's what we did
and you better watch your own eyes, and hold those children close, we are coming back for you
hide the tales of what we did, keep them pure in this world,
that always fails, and so just hold them close and cover so you cant see,
death is no pretty sight, and you'll have to see it yourself,
we don't want his brand on our backs, its easily done, we just have to wait before we see and cry before your tears may fall, and tell the lies about it all
and please don't look at me, I was told by the world to do this and so, Mother Madonna, don't take me as a sinner, but open you arms for us that C.M.S. just cuz we didn't believe in you or heaven or hell, and so we wanted to see how far we would get on this here train, and now you claim you're kicking us off, but we cant leave, there's no place for us there, or here,
and so we see what none can see, and we can't tell you, here the story ends
and you with your guns, gin, bombs, tanks, make-up, elections, drugs, lies, glasses, eyes, voices and dead heads
are headed down the same path
all over my face its written
W.C.M.S.