Right hand raised. The left plants stickers - picking out the deviant. A choice of colours, inclinations, factions that see only red
He wants them dead. He kills them in his mirror when it's dark... And when he thinks that no-one is looking he spreads the spraypaint and leaves his mark

Swastikas shout out from walls, they're tattooed on a million fists. Clenched together, safe in numbers... waving from the precipice. Fodder! Plod on down your icy path... A cannon is waiting for the fodder
Enlightenment comes with a blast. A bang. A bangabangabang...

Another place. A different story. Fingers play with stale cigars. Business creaks, the warehouse leaks, the chairman sold his daughter's car
He's reading charts and sharpening knives for cutting when the time seems right -
For him alone. No pause for mercy if the victim's out of sight

Equality is a word for cranks to shout out as the batons swing
It's beautiful in theory... he knows it's not for him. He's got his fodder!

In higher places, clocks chime for the meeting of the lords
They stay discreet as guilty secrets cause no shame behind closed doors
A portion for the megabomb. A portion for the queen...
Can't forget the army or the law 'cos they have to keep the cities clean
And sure they know they'll get their way as protests echo from the streets
(The blood is thicker from the
Streets)
His hired guns and sheets of armor gives them shelter through the
Heat! The fodder...

But there are other bullets, other walls, where justice cries in shiny red
Where reason dies and passion burns. Persuasion's just a hole in the head
Purges after midnight... There's no discretion in the mass
A volley. A silence as they cover up the mess
Don't kid yourself. You're civilized - it could happen anywhere
In choking cities, steaming jungles... maybe even here