作词 : Galas The arms that you cut off that Sunday night of the young man who ran screaming through the street, streaming blood in trails of terror, are the arms that point me to my door, which forsaken by the blood of Jesus, invites the Devil, who now waits for me outside. The arms that you cut off that Sunday night are the arms that point me to the red eyes of the pentecostal killers and the black eyes of the roman catholic killers and the blue eyes of the pinhead skinhead killers, and the dirty angel does his target practice night and day, making ready now to steal my soul away. The arms that you cut off that Sunday night are the arms that wait between my T.V. and my gun, while the winks and smiles of singing debutantes and eunuchs whisper, "We don't want you, Unclean, lying there in vomit, filth, and perspiration, coming back with Elvis or with Jesus from the dead." The arms that you cut off the body of the screaming young man dance before my eyes the endless murder of my soul which, taunted every hour by open windows, has kept itself alive with prayer, but not for miracles, and not for heaven. Just for silence and for mercy until the end.
作词 : Galas The arms that you cut off that Sunday night of the young man who ran screaming through the street, streaming blood in trails of terror, are the arms that point me to my door, which forsaken by the blood of Jesus, invites the Devil, who now waits for me outside. The arms that you cut off that Sunday night are the arms that point me to the red eyes of the pentecostal killers and the black eyes of the roman catholic killers and the blue eyes of the pinhead skinhead killers, and the dirty angel does his target practice night and day, making ready now to steal my soul away. The arms that you cut off that Sunday night are the arms that wait between my T.V. and my gun, while the winks and smiles of singing debutantes and eunuchs whisper, "We don't want you, Unclean, lying there in vomit, filth, and perspiration, coming back with Elvis or with Jesus from the dead." The arms that you cut off the body of the screaming young man dance before my eyes the endless murder of my soul which, taunted every hour by open windows, has kept itself alive with prayer, but not for miracles, and not for heaven. Just for silence and for mercy until the end.
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