[Intro: The Holocaust]
West Coast, West Coast
Killa Beez
[Verse 1: The Holocaust]
Antlers, hammers and hacksaws
The withered poetry of a man with no name, America
Cement mixer fall upon an ice cream
Holocaust to many, greet with bloody handshake
Wu Empire and colleagues luxuriant
You torn like tape off football helmets, chip
Four cups of crushed bricks, half cup of roses
Smoke egg green and yellow candy cane
Zombies still cooped in the cottage with orange tea
Pistols still pointed at the floor, spinal crumbs
Blood hits snow in hearts, scoop it up in handfuls
Bathe in the river, the waterfall runs red
Sasquatch Yeti, battalion with one head
In a Lonely Place, dollars, razors and marbles
We break open forearms, Earth the last hour
Out in the teahouse playing a hand of spades
Fistful of grenades blow out the watch light
Convicts rally at moonset, the last
Flows stay smoggy, old Carnival Witcham
Sideshow freaks, belly dancers and gypsies
One of the woodcutters, village Architect
88 sandwiches, Thermos and a lunch box
In the Harsh Realm viewing the emerald butterflies
Flutter diamond moths, both with dusty wings
Bodies lay soaked in a desert, throats gouged out
Chunks spitting out of their heads, I had a purpose
Will you still love me tomorrow? Architect
Will you still love me tomorrow? Holocaust
West Coast, West Coast
Killa Beez
[Verse 1: The Holocaust]
Antlers, hammers and hacksaws
The withered poetry of a man with no name, America
Cement mixer fall upon an ice cream
Holocaust to many, greet with bloody handshake
Wu Empire and colleagues luxuriant
You torn like tape off football helmets, chip
Four cups of crushed bricks, half cup of roses
Smoke egg green and yellow candy cane
Zombies still cooped in the cottage with orange tea
Pistols still pointed at the floor, spinal crumbs
Blood hits snow in hearts, scoop it up in handfuls
Bathe in the river, the waterfall runs red
Sasquatch Yeti, battalion with one head
In a Lonely Place, dollars, razors and marbles
We break open forearms, Earth the last hour
Out in the teahouse playing a hand of spades
Fistful of grenades blow out the watch light
Convicts rally at moonset, the last
Flows stay smoggy, old Carnival Witcham
Sideshow freaks, belly dancers and gypsies
One of the woodcutters, village Architect
88 sandwiches, Thermos and a lunch box
In the Harsh Realm viewing the emerald butterflies
Flutter diamond moths, both with dusty wings
Bodies lay soaked in a desert, throats gouged out
Chunks spitting out of their heads, I had a purpose
Will you still love me tomorrow? Architect
Will you still love me tomorrow? Holocaust
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