If you want peace, then you must pray.
Pray with your body and not your lips,
pray with your hands upon your hips.
Pray with your throng'd multitude.
The boys, children into their middle age,
will use their toys of hate and rage.
Is it, must it, will it,
come to this?
by their bloodlust bliss.
But rising in the streets
from out of the air,
is our pulsing blood,
our moving prayer.
Will will not clean,
nor cook, nor sew,
until the boys, will come to know,
that spirit rises from the dust,
will it now eat, their machines to rust.
You can rape, if that is your will,
our blood and life, smash and spill.
But you cannot with bullets, bombs and grease,
make us walk in love.
And give you peace.
Pray the Devil Back to Hell
a cresting wave, a growing swell,
a tide that washes clean the war,
until no one will fight it any more.
You do not fight to protect our home,
nor kill to make it safe to be alone.
If you want war you must gun us down,
and leave our bodies smashed upon the ground.
But then, boys, who will bear your sons?
To whom you will give, your next generation guns?
Shovel all the land into that maw,
call it freedom, or shock and awe.
But we know it is satan's paw,
A script with corpse as pen,
and breath as ink.
That turns the nations to sewers,
and leaves only stink.
Only one truth, I have left to tell.
With our bodies we must pray the devil,
back into hell.