In three months and a day Your homes will plague you Your paychecks will haunt you And your love life will own you This is it We'll expect the cost (we'll expect the cost) . . Spring does not exist, neither does Jesus To whom inquires first While you sit their praying hard to a god that doesn't exist As your head follows down It's in your mouth Forty years, into nights Child this will end your life Forty years, of your life . . A bad taste A terrible sense of smell Fool yourself For the books your children bleed for . . Were going to throw the burning bodies Down the wishing well. . . During a raping You can't get back your pennies During a raping you can't hold yourself on trial . . All we are, are fitter men Cast us as violent All we know can't hold us back Beautiful children with wreck less hands Will doubt them