Final Broadcast
The fire in the sky, it always burns me blind
The trees ignite their leaves and the town it fills with light
The bombs in the street, the radiation reeks
And it cooks me to the bone, cooks me to the bone, cooks me to the bone

Who can say your right? There ain't others around
What's the cause of all the lies that we see the night it got—ot—ot on
Prepare the grenades, though it's not gonna save, (no, it's not all the same, not the same)
And it cooks me to the bone, cooks me to the bone, cooks me to the bone