Ding Dong Motherland

[Intro – whispered / trembling / bells] Ding… Dong… Ding… Dong… He says: “I am history…” But history smells like mold… And gasoline… And wet medals in a locked room… [Verse 1 – fragile, eerie] He has a mouth full of funerals And calls it “vision” He has a pocket full of sons And calls it “mission” He has a cathedral made of TV light And old dead uniforms He stands beneath the giant bell And thinks that thunder means reform He lies so often Even mirrors start to cough He says “the nation” When he means “me” He says “forever” When he means “until I rot” [Pre-Chorus – rising, cracked] Ooooh… Little priest of body bags Little accountant of pain You keep feeding boys into the furnace To engrave your name in rain [Chorus – huge / grotesque / melodic] Putin! You little bell of blood! Swinging in a rotten tower Over mud over mud over mud! Putin! You tiny lord of flies! Dressed in stolen history And laminated lies! Ding-dong! The mothers hear you! Ding-dong! The dead can smell you! Ding-dong! You call yourself a father But you eat your children whole! [Verse 2 – stranger / more mocking] He wants the old machine again The iron boot, the holy wound The censored book, the prison song The clever people underground He wants obedient grandchildren Of executed minds and dust A choir of patriotic mannequins Clapping because they must He wants maps to look like fairy tales With borders made of spit A fantasy of wolves and saints And every stupid man says “Yes! That’s it!” [Pre-Chorus – unstable / taunting] Ooooh… You fungal little emperor In a hallway full of ghosts Still trying to sell apocalypse Like it’s what your country wants most [Chorus – heavier / bells / choir] Putin! You little bell of blood! Swinging in a rotten tower Over mud over mud over mud! Putin! You tiny lord of flies! Dressed in stolen history And laminated lies! Ding-dong! The mothers hear you! Ding-dong! The dead can smell you! Ding-dong! You call yourself a father But you eat your children whole! [Bridge – spoken / deranged / building] No no no no no no— You are not a giant You are a frightened little filing cabinet With missiles You are not a Caesar You are a damp bureaucratic hallucination In elevator shoes You are not destiny You are paperwork with a death count You are not the motherland You are a parasite Wearing her skin like a winter coat [Ritual Breakdown – fast / folk / hysterical] Oi-oi-oi-oi-oi! Ring the bell till the plaster splits! Oi-oi-oi-oi-oi! Crown the worm in counterfeit glitz! Balalaika— bite! bite! bite! Bayan wheezing through the night! March, little zombies, wave the rag! Kiss the boot and hug the flag! He wants to be immortal! He wants to be adored! But he’s just a lonely little spreadsheet ghoul With a murder board! [Verse 3 – cold / broken / almost crying] And every winter grows another cemetery Under someone else’s sky And every speech is just a curtain Hung to keep the cameras dry He says “sacrifice” with a dry clean face As if the dead are props As if the blood will wash away If the anthem never stops [Final Chorus – enormous / berserk / tragic] Putin! You little bell of blood! Swinging in a rotten tower Over mud over mud over mud! Putin! You tiny lord of flies! Dressed in stolen history And laminated lies! Ding-dong! The mothers hear you! Ding-dong! The dead can smell you! Ding-dong! You call yourself eternal But eternity spits you out! [Outro – whispered / bells / choir dissolving] Ding… dong… Little man in a giant room… Ding… dong… Making nations into tombs… Ding… dong… Even stone forgets your name… Ding… dong… But the dead remember… Everything…