How Does It Feel?

when you woke this morning you looked so rocky-eyed, blue and white normally, but strange ringed like that in black
it doesn´t get much better, your voice can get just ripped up shooting in vain, maybe someone hears what you say, but you´re still on your own at night
you´ve got to make such a noise to understand the silence, screaming like a jackass, ringing ears so you can´t hear the silence even when it´s there
like the wind seen from the window, seeing it, but not being touched by it

we never asked for war, nor in the innocense of our birth were we aware of it
we never asked for war, nor in the struggle to realisation did we feel there was a need for it
we never asked for war, nor in the joyful colours of our childhood were we conscious of it´s darkness

how does it feel? how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead? young boys rest now, cold graves in cold earth
how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead? sunken eyes, lost now, empty sockets in futile death

your arrogance has gutted these bodies of life, you deceit fooled them that it was worth the sacrifice
your lies persuaded people to accept the wasted blood, your filthy pride cleansed you of the doubt you should have had
you smile in the face of the death cause you are so proud and vain, your inhumanity stops you from realising the pain
that you inflicted, you determined, you created, you ordered, it was your decision to have those young boys slaughtered

you never wanted peace or solution, from the start you lusted after war and destruction
your blood-soaked reason ruled out other choices, your mockery gagged more moderate voices
so keen to play your bloody part, so impatient that your war be fought, iron lady with your stone heart so eager that the lesson be taught
that you inflicted, you determined, you created, you ordered, it was your decision to have those young boys slaughtered

how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead? young boys rest now, cold graves in cold earth
how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead? sunken eyes, lost now, empty sockets in futile death

throughout our history you and your kind have stolen the young bodies of the living, to be twisted and torn in filthy war
what right have you to defile those births?, what right have you to devour that flesh? what right to spit on hope with the gory madness
that you inflicted, you determined, you created, you ordered, it was your decision to have those young boys slaughtered

how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead? young boys rest now, cold graves in cold earth
how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead? sunken eyes, lost now, empty sockets in futile death

you accuse us of disrespect for the dead, but it was you who slaughtered out of national pride
just how much did you care? what respect did you have as you sent those bodies to their communal grave?
you buried them rough-handed, they´d given you their all, that once living flesh defiled in the hell
that you inflicted, you determined, you created, you ordered, it was your decision to have those young boys slaughtered

you use those deaths to achieve your ends still, using the corpses as a moral blackmail
you say "think of what those young men gave" as you try to bind us in your living death
yet, we do think of them, ice cold and silent, in the snow covered moorlands, stopped by the violence
that you inflicted, you determined, you created, you ordered, it was your decision to have those young boys slaughtered

how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead? young boys rest now, cold graves in cold earth
how does it feel to be the mother of a thousand dead?

1-2-3-4 we don´t want your fucking war! 1-2-3-4 we don´t want you fucking war!
1-2-3-4 we don´t want your fucking war! 1-2-3-4 you can stuff your fucking war!


The Immortal Death

our boys have returned as men, our men. our men have returned, amen.
the spoils of war, the hero, the lads, men pulled together for war, set out to fight for the great british flag that was waved by the thousands ashore.
waving farewell, the girls bare it all and pull up their jumpers and skirts, carried away the crowd calls for more and the men felt it worth fighting for.
it´s all gone before, sexy sue, saucy jane, the pin-up that´s carried to battle, the mascot that marks in every plane, every gun, markers of death, symbols of men in whose name we are slaughtered like cattle.
in every good war there´s a nude on the wall to keep the men happy and straight. a saucy old joke lads, it´s all harmless fun, when we hit land, who shall we rape?
ah, the spoils of war, the knickers, the bras; momentos to give you support. while the bombs drop around you fumble in dreams with blank eyes, see the corpses you´ve fought.

our boys have gone away, our boys, our boys have gone away. our men have returned all tattered and burned, our men have returned, amen.

the guns point their muzzles away to the land and below deck the men throw darts. the nipples are bullseyes, the head counts for less and there´s no point for hitting the heart.
shapely jane, 25, said "the lovely real he-men no red-blooded girl can deny are there for the taking, but it´s all so frustrating if you´re married and already tied".
but bare it all girls and have all the dreams of dashing young soldiers so brave. send him a garter, a cross, love ever after, for soon he will be in his grave.
ah, these rotting young men who all did their duty are sinking away in the sea and they´ve missed, just for them, the ´invincible panties´, displayed in the sun, page three.
the bodies of war, the pin-up, the corpse, flesh that is perfect and torn; the breast that is curved, that is pink and seductive, breast that is ripped and laid bare;
the beckoning arms, the legs that are parted, the welcoming look and the wink; the arms that are shredded, the legs that are no more, the face that is rotting and stinks.
the sickness of war, the men gone before, good luck and speed you away. the madonna is there, stripped naked and bare on the door, she will show you the way.

our boys have gone away, our boys have gone away. our men have returned all tattered and burned, our men have returned, amen.

user, abuser, the conquering man, makes use of the spoils of war. confirming the glory, the woman is raped and the soldiers rename her as ´whore´.
their bodies are torn and disfiguered, in their heads life is never the same. from the wall saucy sal is still smiling as the nightmare is caught in his pain.
her body still perfect and tempting is blistered with blood of his tears. his body confused and frightened turns from the truth that he fears.
his friends that were killed for the reason of war that is fought over lies. the pin-up remains ever after, immortal as all around dies.

our boys have returned as men, our men. our men have returned again. our men have returned all tattered and burned, our men have returned, amen.


Don´t Tell Me You Care

you shit-head slimy got it alls, you crap-eyed ghosts with greasy balls
you wicked matron stabbing hard, grabbing while the going´s good
administrators vicious smile, dancing on the body pile
slipping your sly fingernails, impaling flesh on battlefields
the decaying corpses help you up, to your position at the top

you shit-head slimy want it alls, you bind the baby as it crawls
and crush its head, the soft new skull, burst its brain and keep it dull
you own its mind, you murderous thief, grind it down with bloodied teeth
and feed it up with national pride, progress through self-sacrifice
not for themselves, but you, you scab, you raid the bodies of the dead

you shit-head slimy make it alls, with dead meat dripping as you walk
don't talk of justice or respect, you shit soaked armchair moralist
what right is yours that others lives, are yours to smash and kill and bind?
it's your security that they bleed for, your definitions that they die for
you stack your dead heroes with no more thought, than some accountant at their work

you shit-head slimy got it alls, crap-eyed ghosts were maggots crawl
tired old jerk-offs with your bodyguards, those muscle-pimps with forty-fives
you gutless automatic butchers, bullet shitting dumbhead hookers
it's your heartless failure they protect, while you deny the shame of your neglect
all you can see is your brutal success, and damn the dead and fear the mess

you shit-head greedy have it alls, you cheat and lie and jargonise
that your success is also ours, that what you take you take for us
while your ambition scrapes the living dry, and your solutions are archaic battlecries

you dead meat eyesore death pushers, look elsewhere for your arselickers
the face that stares back from the mirror, reflects the reality of your horror
so don't tell me you care, shit-head, you betray the dead as you curse life
eat you own shit leader of this nation, piss off to your downing street fortress
leave us out of your madness, buy your own vaseline, grease your own arse
shit in your own back yard, suck your own turds, this is our world

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