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The Germs - Land Of Treason
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Land of treason-waste no reason-we are breathing fire
We're packs of dogs-we're enemies of men-we are not desired
Our face show-we've grown cold-but have not conspired
Old hearts gone-the suture's on-mother nations mired
I like a recepticle for the chosen dead, we find our bodies clawed
And with the scent of death, we find that we are not so very awed

Loyalties burned-the words our blurred-overturn your own
Walk the dogs and watch the doors-have your other stone
Stop the toys that march disordered-calculate the thrones
Feel the pulse descending-decaying hallowed tomes
In the starving sense you worship-the nations of debris
You wear a cost of sewage-that you've never ever seen

The time is now-the vicious here-a stolen dinner code
The license of the savage land-that you've always sold
So bite the hand that needs you and bless another coal
The virus never issues-from a cotton so very old
As the lights come down and the guilty blaze; another sort of road
You wash your hands and start to climb the ladder that you stole

Slip the hatch-and spin the sword-the money lords are poor
Push the tank-that rolls downhill-their sense of dream absorbed
Still the cat that breaks the night-tie him to the core
Chase the viruses that believe-that what's right is scored
It's a senseless cash in of right for right-what's wrong is never gone
And left is just a bastion for the fools golden dawn