Locking pop cans on the fencepost
just like the oil, you’re boring
Obviously lacking modesty, you’ve got a policy too foreign

Like Stormin’ Norman you’re combing the sand
Screwing, ruining the lives you hold in your hand
People begging, dying, crying
saying, “Open up your eyes!”
But you’re not seeing.

Oh Hell!
I am home still
if we don’t kill each and every last one
Brother, grab you a gun

I’m in line with the sky’s design
I’m disguised behind the ancient cloth.
The hatred makes it hot.
There’s children crying at rounds in the air.
It’s everywhere.
We scatter, scared.
Erect our necks,
“Oh, who is next?”
We’re so perplexed,
the Holy Text couldn’t ever have prepared us for this.

Oh Hell!
I am home still
if we don’t kill each and every last one
Brother, grab you a gun
And go fill
the window sill
We’ll get those devil people running.
No, they’ll never see it coming.
Desert hummers humming, coming to kill.

Children, walk around it.
Let’s not talk about it.
We won’t have to see their faces again.

Lying bleeding, beaten
In the trees of Eden.
O, of all the places to end.

O, of all the places to end.
We won’t see their faces again.
O, of all the places to end.
This is the place it will end.