War Supply - Bathory

War.

The ultimate.

The pinnacle of friend or foe

Always declared by the high and fought out by the low

Elevated to the state of honourable feud

Fought to capitulation or death.

Either him or you

Cannon fodder dressed up proud to fight or even die

Carrying cross of Christ, the star of David, Swastika or

Word of God, the hammer and the sickle or banner

Splattered with your blood.

Camouflaged and drilled

You await all hell in confidence, at peace.

Blown apart

One could not tell your brains from your feet

As your spirit slips away and Earth drinks from your blood

The irony is that the last thing you’ll think is — «Oh my

God!»

When your…

War Supply.

War Supply.

War Supply

Not until that mine has torn you in two you’ll

Think just fucking «why»

At the bottom of the crater in a burning deaths terrain

You grab your head as if to keep yourself from goin' insane

Tracers cut a million burning tracks above your head

Staring at your support weapon, wishing that you’d dare

Just one delicate press on the trigger and it’s all gone

Ask yourself if your one life is worth spending this way

Tell me where’s all glory you seek among countless young

Men slain.

Indoctrinated as you are by

Church, school, government

And your command you’ll think more of how your death will

Contribute and benefit your land

In uniform you look all swell as you march off to war

From now on your damn rubber body-bag will be your style

Forever more

War Supply.

War Supply.

War Supply.

War Supply

War Supply.

War Supply.

War Supply.

War Supply

War Supply.

War Supply.

War Supply.

Not until that

Mine has torn you in two you’ll think just fucking «why»