bodies in the gears of the apparatus – hoist the black flag (and begin slitting throats) lyrics

baby got up and sung jazz tunes i knew.
we cursed the d-mned 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 prost-tute”.
we rode in with blood on our hands and left as
businessmen.