Watch them speak in thunderclaps No one more or much as Jack It's a knock 'em dead show: Pipes and joints, greased hinge and bone One more for the slaughterhouse For the slaughterhouse Force from the butcher, machine-like One mighty hand at shoulder height Feet tread heavy on the black floor, Look at the breadth of those fingers One more for the Chopping board For the Chopping board Cast me in this violent light, Pull my hands from my eyes Hours go by in thunderous form, I can't go on I can't go on I'll do myself in (x4)