While we smoke missiles and fossil fuels
Count down world wars, we won't get to three
Number zero, the class one, will sure suffice
To end our kind with extreme prejudice
We're just a little bit angry
We're just a little bit sad
We're just a little bit behind you
Balaclava-clad
Crowbar in hand
Devoid of demands
But I guess enough's enough
Romanticising violence, bluff
To the eyes of omniscience, piss off
Why sound the alarm?
What I do in my head's my own problem
What you do to the world is shameful harm
Each bone cracked, strained tendon
Will swing back, full volume
Wish I could be there
And play the background tune
But I'll be long gone
Before you go down, I know
Just remember your turn
Is coming, head and halo
As we dive bootstraps first
For the ground below
For the ground below!