Land of Treason (Live at the Starwood, December 3, 1980)

Land of treason, waste no reason

We are breathing fire

We're packs of dogs, we're enemies of men

We are not desired

Our faces show, we've grown cold

But have not conspired

Old hearts gone, the future's on

Mother nations mired

I like a receptacle for the chosen dead

We find our bodies clawed

With the scent of death

We find that we are not so very awed

Loyalties burned, the words our blurred

Overturn your own

Walk like dogs and watch the doors

Have your other stone

Stop the toys that match disordered

Calculate the thrones

Feel the pulse descending

Decaying hallowed tomes

In the starving sense you worship

The nations of debris

You wear a cost of sewage

That you've never even seen

The time is now, the vicious here

A stolen dinner code

The license of the savage land

That you've always sold

So bite the hand that needs you

And bless another coal

The virus never issues

From a cotton so very old

As the lights come down

You wash your hands and start to climb

The ladder that you stole

Slip the hatch and spin the sword

The money lords are poor

Push the tan that rolls downhill

Their sense of dream absorbed

Still the cat that breaks the night

Tie him to the core

Chase the viruses that believe

That what's right is scored

It's a senseless cash in right for right

What's wrong is never gone

And left is just a passion

For the fools golden dawn