Lift The Veil, Kiss The Tank Songtext
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Here comes the man with
concussions in his pocket.
Here comes the man with a
laser-guided rocket.
Here comes the man with a fistful
concussions in his pocket.
Here comes the man with a
laser-guided rocket.
Here comes the man with a fistful
of pills so you can kill with no
remorse, with no recourse, dance on
your conscience until it's a corpse
War never ends
War never begins
Hoist up the hag of destitution!
His mouth's an empty room where
wild woes wander.
Young machetes in lingerie charm
us all into a frenzy.
His mouth's an ugly hole full of
quadriplegics.
Here comes the man.
So you charge into battle,
muscles rippling, tanks tingling.
Before you fire a shot a white flesh
feels up your flesh and cloaks you
in a robe of blood, maydays you in a
ship of mud.
War never ends.
War never begins.
Hoist up the hag of destitution!
His mouth's an empty room where
wild woes sleep slow.
Young machetes in lingerie charm
us all into a frenzy.
His mouth's an ugly hole full of
quadriplegics.
They left you for dead in the desert
haunted with the ghosts of
prostitutes.
They want you!
They want you!
Dress my cropse up in a low-cut
dress.
Drizzle lipstick on my charred
French kiss.
Dip my severed jaw in cheap cologne,
push-up bras dangling from
snapped elbows.
But death's just death no matter
how you dress it up.
remorse, with no recourse, dance on
your conscience until it's a corpse
War never ends
War never begins
Hoist up the hag of destitution!
His mouth's an empty room where
wild woes wander.
Young machetes in lingerie charm
us all into a frenzy.
His mouth's an ugly hole full of
quadriplegics.
Here comes the man.
So you charge into battle,
muscles rippling, tanks tingling.
Before you fire a shot a white flesh
feels up your flesh and cloaks you
in a robe of blood, maydays you in a
ship of mud.
War never ends.
War never begins.
Hoist up the hag of destitution!
His mouth's an empty room where
wild woes sleep slow.
Young machetes in lingerie charm
us all into a frenzy.
His mouth's an ugly hole full of
quadriplegics.
They left you for dead in the desert
haunted with the ghosts of
prostitutes.
They want you!
They want you!
Dress my cropse up in a low-cut
dress.
Drizzle lipstick on my charred
French kiss.
Dip my severed jaw in cheap cologne,
push-up bras dangling from
snapped elbows.
But death's just death no matter
how you dress it up.
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