All is fair in love and we're in love.
Now that everybody's dead, we can finally talk.
Can vanity and happiness coexist?
All the lovers we've taken in direct view of the enemy.
And we shift each other's body to accept the bullet
and continue the pleasure; the treasures of battle.
It's only for the wounded, the purple-hearted.
Why must you try to ruin my peace of mind?
And they were only words and I've never meant them
I never loved you, even in my weakness.
You were fuel for the fire, cannon fodder.
When my grandpa drank, fell and broke his face in two;
when the cops arrived, he exclaimed "I fought in World War II"
and then they carried him to a darkened hospital room
and said "No modern person here remembers you,
and we can't identify the enemy,
and it could be you, so it'll cost you."
"It already cost me my wife and my job, now what?"
When my mom and I went to identify the body,
and I wanted to see but she wouldn't let me.
I had to wait for the military cemetary
and when we got there, this is what she said to me:
"Love and war, in heaven and in hell,
you get what you deserve-- you'd better spend it well.
All is fair in love and war-- and love,
a civil war like this, it always sells itself."
