Beastmilk - The Wind Blows Through Their Skulls

Short circuit signals
crawl the pavements of my mind
Intermittent voices call
Of the atomic kind . . .

I can't sleep through dead dreams
As blood buildings boil
Contaminated flesh machines
Black clouds from the furnace coil

The wind blows through their skulls
As the night begins to shine
With tongues that whip the tombs
The air will set their bones on fire

Radiation hunger Cold war, a secret sign
My ghost whispers to my ghost
Am I nuclear genocide?

I can't sleep through dead dreams
As blood buildings boil
Contaminated flesh machines
Black clouds from the furnace coil

The wind blows through their skulls
As the night begins to shine
With tongues that whip the tombs
The air will set their bones on fire

Genocide . . .
Am I nuclear genocide?