ziegler co. - tourists lyrics
at whitechapel the streetwalking women watch in horror
they writhe, they spit, they scream and they moan
as their fleshy nubile sisters are led to places where their blood was spilt
and bodies broken and they snap pictures on the camera phones
tourists of death
where there is no one left
we will be there next
where to next?
at auschwitz, the sun shines brightly like an uncle with dementia
who wore blue to the funeral, despite what he was told
and they soak it up beneath the gate, ask why the birds still sing
and say ‘it’s so awful but save some film for berkenau, just down the road’
they rewind and they replay and watch it snap back and to the left
proving another played a role
they touch their fingers to the trigger, run their fingers down the rifle
and if given half a chance they’d stick their fingers deep in the bullet holes
they pause and they freeze frame to find the faces in the smoke
the face of god the face of jesus or the devil
they conspire and they confuse, just the worst kind of abuse
they build sand castles, on the ground the place was levelled
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