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?