With Regards, T.H. کے بول

Out of the playground's ashes Come little men with little games They're playing war They're planning new crusades like new arcades The reason for the season is to flood the media With suicidal mania And paint this landscape with this human waste So lets all sing a song of love Lets sing sing sing sing Sing until our throats bleed And if this child could sing he would say I don't need anybody I don't need anyone I don't need your guidance home Watch as I build my empire Watch as I rise and fall Watch as I fight all alone History's a stage for re-runs For 3 A.M. insomniacs who quote the episodes If tricycles came with guns we'd all be safe Little green men didn't come from outer space With coupons in the Sunday Paper They came from corporate brains So until we all confess And admit we stole the candy These little men are playing games From here to eternity But I'll be sitting by myself here Waiting oh so patiently Waiting for the sky to fall And purge frail humanity