on hurtin' Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting this way Hurting
hurtin' Gotta let this go Got to field tomorrow On my own Your touch keeps on hurtin' Gotta let this go Gotta field tomorrow On my own Your touch keeps on hurtin' Hurting
fire, they're blowin' up cars Creatures on the streets, and razor blades in candy bars Fuck dammit, another Halloween People on Military know what this means Houses on fire
Won't give a triple choke And it won't hurt my throat, nope! Chinky eyed, just ridin' n vibin' On that real fire Be high for two-three hours And I'm cool
the world has come to an end I look for miles but not a face is friendly Then suddenly a hole opens up in the ground The bottom of the hole is a raging fire
Are you blind? Blind to me trying to be kind Volunteering for your firing line Waiting for one precious sign The flicker of a smile You should try it
we still have those, let's fire them and see how it goes. ROBOT: Foolish humans, that won't work. We'll get you both, prepare to hurt. Your blood
imaginable Life and all that surrounds it and in this corner Weighing in at well, not really very much of anything A very sound and user friendly idea
aware you an' me Were scared of sunlight How do we now come to be afraid Dayglo Jesus on the dash Chalk marks on the road ahead Friendly fire in hostile
the king's men Push on, plod on these legs Like pistons pumping forward motion Convalescent men in uniform We have fallen to friendly fire Shrapnel
Hostille looks and friendly fire Of words that hurt Of smiles unreturned Please- turn your back on me It's not what i wish for It's no my desire To live
come on man, can't we call a truce can we do somethin about it before people end up crying and shoutin and poutin man, come on man, that would really hurt our friendly
[Chorus] Fuck! Damnit! Another Halloween. People on Military know what this means. Houses on fire, they're blowin up cars. Creatures in the streets, and
ll hold the mic like he's mean and his tummy hurt In a clean pair, ripped jeans and a bummy shirt Wonderin would you clap your hands if he was friendly
