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Reform your countryside! Reform your shafted side! |
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Konstantine: you are the beggar of the blasted blue light, |
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Oh [rich] Richie's in the back |
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He ain't going to like it when you go, |
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And Howard sells the power to the power-hungry proles, |
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Incriminating photo shoots that show you wearing gold, |
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All exit patients shall book exit flights, |
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And all the punk cry "deliver us, deliver us from the night!" |
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Oh baby, I've got to know, when you sing that song |
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Where the singer sings he's got to know |
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I feel this deliverance that is gained from the right, |
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Refrom your countryside! |
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Blast they ticks from the blasted side! |
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Oh twice crooked and twice cursed night, |
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All the punks cry "deliver us, deliver us from the night!" |
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She sings songs, |
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All hands they roll, they roll to the golden tide |
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And take that fool out of sight, but then you |
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Tell him that you got no babies, that he got no babies, |
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On and on. |
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Refrom your countryside! |
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Blast they ticks from your countryside, |
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Move thy earth in ways that your father did decide, |
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And all the punks cry deliver us, deliver us from your night, |
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Howard is a whirlwind you wonder where he blows, |
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A portion of his breath is in this water don't you know, |
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Bold broken promises left oracles in ports |
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And all the punks cry, "Deliver us, deliver us from your courts!" |
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Ah la-la, |
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You put the baby in the bottle and then you go, |
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And you sing that song that the General sings to the dawn, |
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You put the baby in the bottle and the bottle and you go, |
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And you stand up from your cupboard and you say |
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The world is so! |
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And you stand up from the river and you see its golden flow, |
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I am going to pay you a hundred dollars, |
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You are going to stay away from the rope. |
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La-la-la-la-la-la |
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And you sing that song that the General sings to the dawn. |
