The body bags and little rags of children torn in two
And the jellied brains of those who remain to put the finger right on you
As the madmen play on words and make us all dance to their song
To the tune of starving millions to make a better kind of gun.
The killer's breed or the Demon's seed,
The glamour, the fortune, the pain,
Go to war again, blood is freedom's stain
But don't you pray for my soul anymore.
2 minutes to midnight,
The hands that treaten doom.
2 minutes to midnight,
To kill the unborn in the womb.