Rain, like tin angels falling down.

LIke a mission and we're half-way there

From some old dried up fried forgotten town.

Why, won't they let us be ourselves?

With our potential we could toe the line

And show the bastards up with our divine

Light

Seize

All the records from the past

Hold for ransom all the artifacts

This ragged town protects them to the last

With Lies



See them running heading homeward to Seattle.



Deem

All the liars in your tribe

To be the fires on the western side

Of some old front we call the War of art.

Rain, like tin angels falling down

Like a mission and we're half-way there

From some old dried up fried forgotten town

From some old dried up fried forgotten town

To some old fried up fried forgotten town