Tell me a story, settle the cards.
Give me a cause for the foreign wars.
Wrap me up in our flag,
and let the bombs fall where they may.
Tell me a tale, make the puzzle whole.
Give it to the pilgrim without a soul.
Sell it to the miner who can't afford his coal
and may the history factory never close.
You can build an army of this rabble yet.
You can make a nation from the ashes of the dead. Tell them a story:
god blood and glory,
brew up an enemy:
they're comin' to steal your bread.
And let the bombs fall where they may
on faces I don't see with names I cannot say.
For I trust the storyteller with my vote.
I, pilgrim was sold a golden soul,
sold a soul, sold his soul.
The first thing I remember?
Waking up and seeing you there.
Comfort like a fire, like an answer to a prayer.
Like a beacon in the blackness,
solace from the racket.
Take your shears to the briars.
Kill the chaors, make it clear.
Tell me why the buildings fall and everybody dies.
I have so many questions,
just tell me where to sign...
and I'll take up arms and lock all the doors
and I'll tell them a story 'bout the good guys
of the war, of the war.
Tell me a story to help me slip away.
I drank up an enemy.
So let the bombs rain from our parade
and fall where they may.
