we'd been twelve years down so they rallied all aroundnand they offered up the boys to dientrading blood for money, selling flags and spining liesnand business getting better was the battle crynits got nothing to do with younits not a happy storynyou wont see em running the numbersnbut you'll see who gets the fucking glorynurban epidemics always seem much more severenwhen problems turn from black to whitenand candle-coated vigils always seeming to sincerenatleast until the end of the nightnthey're selling flags and spinning lies while sending someone elses son's to die