All The Dying

When I see a face of anonymity
Crying on the street, it does something to me
I make believe malady, tragedy

Flowers on the grave is a beautiful thing
'Cause flowers on the grave still means they're getting something
But when the flowers ain't there, and the grave is bare
I think of old dead bones that don't get theirs

I think of all the butchers and all the beef
I think of all the flies in all the hеat
I think of all the dying and dying and dying

Dying and dying and decomposing
Dying and dying's for real

Whеn I see the damned in their dire straights
Damning all the men with those American names
I say: Don't damn the man, damn your hand
For makin' a fist and shaking it all around
Damn the hand, damn your hand

Oh, you can damn the butchers and damn the beef
Oh, you can damn the flies in all the heat
Or you can damn the dying and dying and dying

(Fuck!)

Dying and dying and decomposing
Dying and dying's for real
Dying and dying and pounds of posy
Dying and dying's forever

When I hear the crying of a siren in the night
I think of piles of writhing people, fighting for their lives
I see an image of a body, broken and beet red
I hear the a cappella angels singing for the dead

I think of all the butchers and all the beef
I think of all the flies in all the heat
I think of all the dirt that lays a bed for bones
I think of all the words that get written on the stones
I think of all the surf that come crashing over souls
I think of all the dying
All the dying
All the dying
All the dying