There's an address tattooed on the back of a young mother's belly
That leads to an old condemned warehouse on Ivy and Blaine
Where caches of our enemies weapons sit crated and rusty
Eagerly waiting a chance to be used in our name
And this is the shield
That protects their machinery
And these are the halls
Where their juggernauts bait
And these are the blades
That will shred us to vapor
And if that were all
Then right now we'd be storming the gate
But our spies in the kitchen report that our maps are not savvy
And the far eastern courtyard is riddled with anthracite mines
But they swear us the gates will be open from sundown to supper
I suggest that we try to make practical use of the time
And this is a war
And we are not winning
And I'm patently sure
That I will not survive
But we'll give them what for
Like we have since the very beginning
In 1604
When the High Father fled from the Hive
And your curvature's kind and your criminal's eyes are beguiling
And I didn't realize that anyone else would be here
But I am no child, and I am not smiling
So dress yourself quickly, for you've been promoted my dear
For at fourteen years old
You were sent to his highness
A commodity sold
To a bidder so high
But these sheets are still cold
And he must suspect something
So now do as your told
Or millions are going to die
And we are the villains
Of this little drama
And if you wish to stop us
Well you very well may
But we'll be remembered
In the patches of blight in your pastures
And you can recede
But the memories will stay
And this was our war
And I know it meant something
And although we abhor
What you stand for and say
Our final rapport
Was really quite touching
Though cut poignantly short
As the floors of the gallows gave way