Texty: Napalm Death. Words From The Exit Wound. Thrown Down A Rope.

Someone wants me dead
From the neck and upwards
Rope weaved by these hands
Box of my toils

Coerced, dazed by a sucker punch
Reeling, believing that these are the dues

Someone wants me dead
From the neck and upwards

Pitch back, throwback to a chastised youth
No quarter, stifled under a stitch-up hood

To be made an example
Will staunch my deviant flow

Held a lever that only I can pull
Need a trauma to
Silence my loose tongue
Loose tongue

Bigots want my head
On a plate to sound out

Probing, exposing delicate core to full view
Damning, programming etiquette to suit

To dissect and reset
Will staunch my deviant flow

Held a lever that only I can pull
Need a trauma to silence my loose tongue
Group constrictor throttling a bond
Call a cull to silence our loose tongues

Silence our loose tongues
Silence our loose tongues