Preachers in the little deaths, They got what they've asked. They got an autumned hearse as it drove right by. And I all got together And I all dropped together And I all tossed and turned As I drowned out my peace. I had my own little deaths With my own little kinds. War is my mistress adore, The one that I've always had. War is the mainline mirage That fills what I can't. In the eyes of the has-beens, In the trails of the animal cunts And I know my own little deaths. War is my mistress adore That I'll always have. War is the mainline That feels what I can't. War is my mistress adore That I'll always have. War is the mainline That feels what I can't. And when my bankrupt neck and my skull full of debt can't stand. I'm making my way towards death's wooden door And I'm bringing a fucking battering ram... I'll bring a fucking battering ram In the name of the kindred dirt. In the name of our failures, In the name of our failures well-earned. All of us has-beens, all of us animal cunts... All of us bleed in the name of all of us born With hellionaire blood.