Get them propped and boxed, and fixed on forced remarks...
On haggard glimpse, on a primal blitz,
And meet me at the hole where the bodies are dumped in a glistening front yard.
Smell what I smell, taste what I taste.

Live the life of bygone bricks in teh stomachs of scenic waste.
'tis the minute of ours...

And bury us with our grenades underneath the steps of [bad word] corpses.

They can erect their walks of fame while we suicide bomb every last pacified name.

Bring me disease.
And storm the cells bring me the [bad word] 
And unleash [bad word] bring on the [bad word] plague in the heart of the decade reign,
I want [bad word] my life and die how I die...
With my hair on fire and the dust of my skin in the blink of a billion renegade eyes. [bad word] my health, and [bad word] our health.
Let's get desperate.
Now.