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Preachers in the little deaths, they got what they've asked. They got an autumned hearse as it drove right by. And I all got together and I all dropped together and I all tossed and turned as I drowned out my peace. I had my own little deaths with my own little kinds.
War is my mistress adore, the one that I've always had. War is the mainline mirage that fills what I can't. In the eyes of the has-beens, in the trails of the animal cunts and I know my own little deaths. War is my mistress adore that I'll always have. War is the mainline that feels what I can't. And when my bankrupt neck and my skull full of debt can't stand. I'm making my way towards death's wooden door and I'm bringing a fucking battering ram... I'll bring a fucking battering ram in the name of the kindred dirt. In the name of our failures, in the name of our failures well-earned. All of us has-beens, all of us animal cunts... all of us bleed in the name of all of us born with hellionaire blood.