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Whether by knife, whether by gun

Losing your life is sometimes fun

In a place of constant violence

Worst of all things would be silence

Crushed by a power you can’t touch

When suffer in silence is too much

All means are good, all means are right

Many idols to dynamite

Look at the world, what it’ll become

Let us get rid of these scumbags

The one-way bargain they have sold

Has nothing to do with us all

They see you struggle in a world of pain

This is slow work, crawling in vain

The smell of burning, the taste of ashes

The sight of blood, a physical need

We are the dead, some creature

Our real true life is the future

Absurd postures are not an act

Thieves and traitors twisting the facts

Everything you ever felt Is the violence of their belt

They see you struggle in a world of pain

This is slow work, crawling in vain

The smell of burning, the taste of ashes

The sight of blood, a physical need

There’s no lack of void