LYRICS
Use A− / A+ to adjust text sizeGuns… Guns… Guns
Where have all the people goneWhose lives are no longer of use to themBut this system bites habit formingBut this single file is so contagiousBut black eyes breed gossipLike these perverse and perversions alikeHibernate while you're still youngBut you are getting olderSo much olderSo much older than you thinkCrank the tap.Itch.Brimming with suspicionsThe burrows are brimming with suspicionsWhere have all the people goneWhose guns are gold cold son of a bitchHe’s says, “I'll travel anywhere I likeI'll travel anywhere I please.”The priest’s on the boatAnd hell is on its way
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