|
The restoration went ahead |
|
Pouring out the molten lead |
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Shaping the monuments |
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To all the usless dead |
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Now they're lighting up the big searchlights |
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Trying to widen out the night |
|
Filling up the empty space |
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So nothing can escape |
|
This machine is gonna crack |
|
Hmmm-mmm-mmm |
|
In dead centre of the fog |
|
There's glass walls and spitting dogs |
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Past the sentries on the walls |
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And the houses of the dogs |
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We found out where the light begins |
|
Saw where the planes come in |
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Crashing down at a hundred thousand knots |
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And landing on their backs |
|
This machine is gonna crack |
|
Hmmm-mmm-mmm |
|
This machine is gonna crack |
|
Hmmm-mmm-mmm |
|
And as they pull the fucker's shirt |
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You feel they're tightening your gut |
|
Ankles dressed, feet and fists |
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Started to float apart |
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And they're winding down as the camera rolls |
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Rising up on rocking shores |
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The laughter is a roaring storm |
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Waiting to attack |
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This machine is gonna crack |
|
This machine is gonna crack |
