Watch them speak in thunderclaps
No one more or much as Jack
It's a knock 'em dead show: Pipes and joints, greased hinge and bone
One more for the slaughterhouse
CHANT
Force from the butcher, machine-like
One mighty hand at shoulder height
Feet tread heavy on black floor, Look at the breadth of those fingers
One more for the Chopping board
CHANT
Cast me in this violent light, Pull my hands from my eyes
CHANT
Thunderclaps fly through low-light
Jack sits amongst them in the sky
There's no place here for me tonight but Jack needs no invite
Lunging for the meat and prize Lunging with his roving eyes
CHANT
Hours go by In thunderous form, I can't go on I can't go on
RANT
I'll do myself in, I'll pick up this thing
Sits heavy in my hand
I'll do myself in