Now

you've

got

some-

thing

to

die

for.

Now

you've

got

some-

thing

to

die

for.

In-

fi-

del,

im-

pe-

ri-

al.

Lust

for

blood,

a

blind

cru-

sade.

A-

po-

ca-

lyp-

tic,

we

count

the

days.

Bombs

to

set

the

peo-

ple

free,

blood

to

feed

the

dol-

lar

tree.

Flags

for

cof-

fins

on

the

screen,

oil

for

the

ma-

chine.

Ar-

my

of

li-

be-

ra-

tion,

gun-

point

in-

doc-

tri-

na-

tion.

The

fi-

res

of

se-

da-

tion

ful-

fill

the

pro-

phe-

cy.

Now

you've

got

some-

thing

to

die

for.

Now

you've

got

some-

thing

to

die

for.

Send

the

chil-

dren

to

the

fire,

sons

and

daugh-

ters

stack

the

pyre.

Stoke

the

flame

of

the

em-

pire,

live

to

lie

a-

no-

ther

day.

Face

of

hy-

po-

cri-

sy,

ra-

ping

de-

mo-

cra-

cy.

A-

po-

ca-

lyp-

tic,

we

count

the

days.

Oh.

We'll

ne-

ver

get

out

of

this

hole,

un-

til

we've

dug

our

own

grave.

And

drag

the

rest

down

with

us,

the

burn-

ing

home

of

the

brave.

Burn.

Now

you've

got

some-

thing

to

die

for.

Now

you've

got

some-

thing

to

die

for.