Tuzla

Of all the treasure in our chest

We love the golden God of war the best



Look, look at that little clown

Here, look through the binoculars

Someone burned his schoolhouse down

And he's blinking in the sun

He's drying something in the sun



Ha, it's an old tea bag, now, he rolls it up

Look, he made a cigarette

But he's not gonna smoke it yet

Maybe he's gonna sell it

How much do you think he'll get?



A slice of ham, a long goodbye, three days of peace

A bar of soap, a can of oil, ten years of debt

A pinch of salt, a week of news, four double A's

A plastic bag, a place to hide, one sucker bet



I got what you want

You got what I need



Of all the sterling men of steel

We crave the one who'll teach us not to feel



Look at the guy selling beer

Where the hell did he get it from?

He's the king of the Hill

He's the bug that survives the bomb

See the smirk on his greasy face



Handing a bottle to the mortal foe

It's not the time to kill, not that he forgets

As he takes a crumpled bill

And thinks this is better yet



A pot for the rain, a pair of shoes, two hand grenades

A spade for the grave, four lovely eggs, three cigarettes

A stick of gum, some wood for a fire, two table legs

A cup of rice, a pint of blood, one pound of flesh



Line up to buy here

Line up to die there



Look, look through that window

Looks like your sister

In a Chetnik's bed

Look, there on the table

Looks like she did it for a loaf of bread



Shit, she's got a knife

And he's snoring like a pig

Is he worth more alive or dead?

How much for his boots?

How much for his head?



Though all the days and all the times

We count the coin and stash away the crimes