Marching towards your grave
Of your country you are a slave
You don't mean shit to them
Expendable good in their cash flow plan
Nationalist thoughts drilled in your brain
Like your country is some holy grail
Forced and pushed for the kill
Expendable goods
What has your country ever done for you?
Except pushing you and twisting the truth
And pulling you out of your neighborhood
Expendable goods
So march on to your fucking death
Or choose life and fucking object
No state ain't worth to die for
Let the bastards fight their own wars
