I Want To Get Shot At (By An Israeli Gun Squad)

Hey! Little Mohammed,
Where's your riot gear?
Did you misplaced all your body armour?
I'll forgive you for spilling your secret
Through your hands.
You know that I'd do anything
To change our places, share your feelings, so heed
This western plea, this suburban disease,
I want to get shot at
By an Israeli gun squad, so heed
This teenage wail, this middle class call.
I want to get shot at
By an Israeli gun squad
And hey, major neave,
What's that weight on your shoulder?
Could it be the cumulative weight of history?
Herculean, I will share your burden,
Though I might forfeit my digital watches, so heed
This western plea, this suburban disease,
I want to get shot at
By an Israeli gun squad, so heed
This teenage wail, this middle class call.
I want to get shot at
By an Israeli gun squad
And take a ride through the ruins in 1945

Hellas, you had it wrong.
To know ourselves we need everything in excess.
So I go now to dip my toe
Into the waters of extremity.
How fast can I swim
At the point of a question?
So hey! Here's to Petersburg in 1917,
And here's to forging paths in Barcelona.
Here's to knowing our thoughts are making a difference.
I'd rather be a spanish veteran than some hippy kid.
And so I question the non-participational definition of animation.
Here's to no holding back on the things that we wish for.
No holding back on the things that we wish for.
No holding back on the things that we wish for.
No holding back on the things that we wish for.