| Kill for gain or shoot to maim
|
| But we don’t need a reason
|
| The Golden Goose is on the lose
|
| And never out of season
|
| Some blackened pride burns inside
|
| This shell of bloody treason
|
| Here’s my gun for the barrel of fun
|
| For the love of the living death
|
| The killer’s breed, or the demon’s seed
|
| The glamor, the fortune, the pain
|
| Go to war again, blood is freedom stain
|
| But don’t you pray for soul anymore
|
| 2 minutes to midnight
|
| The hands that threaten doom
|
| 2 minutes to midnight
|
| To kill the unborn in the womb
|
| The blind men shout, let the creatures out
|
| We’ll show the unbelievers
|
| The NAPALM screams of humans flames
|
| Of a prime time Betson feast yeah!
|
| As the reasons for carnage cut their meat and lick they gravy
|
| We oil the jaws of the war machine and feed it with our babies
|
| 2 minutes to midnight
|
| The hands that threaten doom
|
| 2 minutes to midnight
|
| To kill the unborn in the womb
|
| The body bags and the little rags of children torn in two
|
| And the jellied brains of those who remains to put finger right on you
|
| As the Madman play on words and makes 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 glamor, the fortune, the pain
|
| Go to war again, blood is freedom stain
|
| But don’t you pray for soul anymore
|
| 2 minutes to midnight
|
| The hands that threaten doom
|
| 2 minutes to midnight
|
| To kill the unborn in the womb
|
| Midnight, midnight, is all night
|
| Midnight, midnight, is all night
|
| Midnight, is all night |