It's harsher than I've ever seen
There's totally unintelligible shouts from there
Stinging sand and stinging rain
I'd better get inside before it gets too wet
I hear the sound of marching bands
And uniformed feet
Pretty soon I just can't breathe
With so much screaming my tongue swells more and more each day
One man's meat is another's poison
Oh ghost beat
This operation sure is big
They surely must expect a fairly major prize
But they seem so careless
Well I suppose that it's something that has to be done
With visions of a funeral pyre
See a plane crashing
What kind of place is this
Can you hear it
Ghost beat
I just can't think with this around
'cause all I ever hear is that snare drum sound
It's much harsher than it's ever been
It's probably what makes me act this way
I hear the call of self-preservation
I really don't want to act this way
