Bitter Bride
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You're playing with your daddy's gun
Like some imaginary soldier of fortune
Back-slapping darling, native son
Mom, apple pie and freedom
You'd rather swallow than spit the poison out
You think your shallow words make a heavy sound
You're masquerading, but you can't figure it out
Just salivating at the chance to tear it down
Irrelevant thorn in your side
Old bag of bones
Your bitter bride
You're playing with your daddy's gun
And fantasizing 'bout the wars you never won
Back-slapping son and native sons
Mom, apple pie and freedom
You'd rather swallow than spit the poison out
You think your shallow words make a heavy sound
You're masquerading, but you can't figure it out
Just salivating, but you won't say it aloud
Your mouth is moving like a puppet on a throne
Got nothing left so now you're choking on the bones
No need to hide it 'cause we all already know
No colored Jesus in your broken temple
Irrelevant thorn in your side
Old bag of bones
Your bitter bride
Irrelevant thorn in your side
Old bag of bones
Your bitter bride
Irrelevant thorn in your side
Old bag of bones
Your bitter, bitter, bitter
There's a blood red stain on a thin blue line
There's a blood red rain under spacious skies
And the cracks are painted over with the lies
Now the drumbeat sounds a familiar cry
Like an ancient rhythm electrified
Funny how you can't hear with hands over your eyes
So raise your flag to symbolize
Raise your hands to civilize the martyr
Martyr
Draw the line from son to father
Martyr, martyr
Reckoning before the slaughter