Bodies in the gears of the apparatus

Hoist the black flag (and begin slitting throats)

Bodies in the gears of the apparatus
Baby got up and sung jazz tunes i knew.
we cursed the damned architects
when they were at failure
And we watched the walls crumble.

Spit on my shoes, bathe me in flies
Let me shout aloud "I used you prostitute".
We rode in with blood on our hands and left as businessmen.

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