Chorus
Decapitated head of John the Baptist
Speaking out ‘Hah!’ through fiery, chapped lips
Cowards! The powers put me on their blacklist
You’re all preach and no practice

Verse One
Artist-in-residence, all about your practice
A voice in the desert gonna push you into cactus
Dry your eyes, mate and fumigate your mattress
We’re tired of your beard
And your fear of paying taxes
Weight of the world? You’re miscast as Atlas
You said you wanted to fast
Now you’re saying ‘Fact is
My practice requires three square meals’
Wanna know how camel hair feels
On the back of your neck
When you’ve trekked
With the goats and the crows?
Days that you burn, night that you froze
Now the blood is dripping out my nose
it’s all over your studio
It’s all over your clothes
Whatcha gonna do now?
Get really verbose?
Or huddle in a corner
And double up your dose?
I don’t see you praying for your foes
Or laying in the road
Oh shit, now you’re playing with the pros
You can die slow, ‘When the Wind Blows’
Or you can grab a biro and get to taking notes
Do you hit squads? Do you flip modes?
Do your fuckin’ homework, learn the lingo
But you oughta know if you live by a code
Somewhere Salome is sliding down a pole
The enemy can cut
Through your spine and your throat
And you end up dumped on side of the road

Chorus
Decapitated head of John the Baptist
Speaking out ‘Hah!’ through fiery, chapped lips
Cowards! The powers put me on their blacklist
You’re all preach and no practice




Bridge
Furious, I bleed on the big banks
That breed the big tanks
That mutilate the quick and the damned

Furious, I point out plot holes
Pour out hot coals
Without ever lifting a hand

Furious, I plead for the stepchild
Living in exile
Drinking like it’s New Year’s Eve

Furious about the misfortunes
Of widows and orphans
Smitten with a new disease

Down in the dungeon, soon elevated
Spit out truth, decapitated

Verse Two
Anything you wanna die for? fight for?
Five, four, three, two, one
You cannot buy more
Time, the stakes are as high as the tide
And they got a small child at their side
And the water is wide
At the border they cried
Passport denied
Everything that they tried
They swallowed their pride
Hitching a ride through the greatest divide
And they paid for a guide
But they’re aching inside
Cuz their other boy died
They gaze at the sky
What a waste of life!
Coastguards might just wait for the right
Time to puncture the dingy; goodbye!
Can you relate to those seeking asylum?
If you could, would you pay for their flight?
Or basic supplies?
Look me in my bloodshot eyes
Have you forsaken the fight?