Birth Control 'N' Rock 'N' Roll (Remastered)

歌詞

"I always wanted to experience war. I was raised on it. I... every birthday I got cap guns and helmets and canteens - played war all the time when I was a kid. The television was always war movies - the best thing for you, you know, make a man out of you." "To the man in your life, your complexion can be the most attractive thing about you." "I think every woman deserves a beauty soap that's really rather special, don't you?" Industry on the mercenary blood path Military loves the gory war bath Economics shape The battle landscape All join together for the grand rape Moral intentions make a scapegoat Excuse the rotting corpse inside the trench coat Praise the rotting minds above the club tie That sits in towers up in the blue sky Above the clouds, obscure the scarred earth Discuss manoeuvres, moves for more death Arms make profit from the crushed head Build the towers up on the ditch dead Betrayal forms the formal skyline Tinted windows catch the sunshine Ice cold beauty makes the heart sink Five thousand miles away the dead stink And here the graveyard to insult them The city shines with laughing tombstones The profiteers, the war cry butchers Stir up the lust for legal slaughter The living dead who look up to them Who accept the authority the kills them Work for the corporation making napalm Workers watch the burning children On T.V. as they eat their meat pie With refusal in their mind's eye To see their own lives in that cold death Their state of wealth upon that lost breath In the official offices of deathplan Leaders of men work to betray man Stocks and shares declare the next war The torture starts behind the locked door Propaganda tops the big desk Compose an overture to fine death The hideous grey men of our nightmares Dim the colour, foul the clean air Their eyes forsake all that they dwell on Drag the lover from the loved ones Patriots' progress is a backstep A cruel noose around a young neck They teach our children in the classroom To respect a madman on a rostrum To praise the the dirty works of battle Bring out the ribbon, balloon and rattle To dig their own graves in the cold earth So sad and pointless now to give birth