Cry for the last of the soldiers
Who knows how long hell last?
Emptiness courts the believer
Who never considered the task.

The tiger is half of the jungle
Desire half of the war
Instincts awakened in movement
Loving, dead on the shore

Were digging a grave in the mud
Digging a grave in the mud
And its he who always digs early
Who knows what his grave is made of

He wasnt born in the country
But its in the country hed hoped to last
With a cache of old folkie records
And driving a tank full of gas

Maybe we were born to kill
Born to kill each other,
Maybe we were born to hurt
Maybe, maybe were

Digging a grave in the mud
Digging a grave in the mud
And its he who always digs early
Who knows what his grave is made of

He finds himself knee-deep in nothing
The rest of him all shot to hell
Sends but a thought to his father
Never knew him that well

Digging a grave in the mud
Digging a grave in the mud
Its he who flees at the sight of the flood,
Its he who dies who looses his blood,
And its we who will laugh at the loss of all good
Just digging graves in the mud.