In three months and a day your homes will plague you
Your paychecks will haunt you
And your love life will own you
This is it
We'll expect the cost (we'll expect the cost)

Spring does not exist, neither does Jesus
To whom inquires first
While you sit there to a god praying hard that doesn't exist, not exist
As your head follows
Forty years
Child this will end
Forty years

A bad taste
A terrible sense of smell
Fool
For the books your children bleed for

We're going to throw the burning bodies
Down the wishing well...
We're going to throw the burning bodies
Down the wishing well...
We're going to throw the burning bodies
Down the wishing well...
We're going to throw the burning bodies
Down the wishing well...
During a raping
You can't get back your pennies
During a raping you can't hold yourself on trial

All we are, are fitter men
Cast us as violent
All we know can't hold us back
Beautiful children with reckless hands
Will doubt them
Will doubt the father

Forty years, into nights
Child this will end
Forty years of your own life
Forty years of your life