Them Songtext
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A new army in the yard with all their discarded hearts
You dare to redefine a subtle line to refine a design
Her cauldron of oil boils under the soil a serpent coils
To ensure it's planning to strike at everything it likes or for that matter dislikes
It displays its level of distaste across its face - you he wants to erase
"And you know he will do so," ticks the time, until it shows
And I have no idea why they are them
And I have no idea why they are them
You dare to redefine a subtle line to refine a design
Her cauldron of oil boils under the soil a serpent coils
To ensure it's planning to strike at everything it likes or for that matter dislikes
It displays its level of distaste across its face - you he wants to erase
"And you know he will do so," ticks the time, until it shows
And I have no idea why they are them
And I have no idea why they are them
It's buried in the sands of Egypt the way they killed them that's the way that they'll kill us I know
I hear the code so openly spoken like all 206 of my brittle bones are being broken
It's blatant/obtrusive yeah it's oh so prolific in the unseen hieroglyphics it's horrific
Seeps in and out like winter man-made smooth wood will eventually splinter
A new army in the yard and all the barricades they plan to bombard
You dare to redesign a hill's incline climbing a slippery vine
Her layers of surface shake, wiggling into place, their tension displaced
No pain in scratching an itch, but when the tickle's gone
A smoke plume begins to blume... my eyes are shocked and raising up towards the sky. I don't know why, but we're all going to die
I hear the code so openly spoken like all 206 of my brittle bones are being broken
It's blatant/obtrusive yeah it's oh so prolific in the unseen hieroglyphics it's horrific
Seeps in and out like winter man-made smooth wood will eventually splinter
A new army in the yard and all the barricades they plan to bombard
You dare to redesign a hill's incline climbing a slippery vine
Her layers of surface shake, wiggling into place, their tension displaced
No pain in scratching an itch, but when the tickle's gone
A smoke plume begins to blume... my eyes are shocked and raising up towards the sky. I don't know why, but we're all going to die
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