There's blood in the streets. It's up to my ankles.
Blood in the streets. It's up to my knee. Blood in the
streets of the town of Chicago. Blood on the rise. It's
following me. Just about the break of day. She came and
then she drove away. Sunlight in her hair.

Blood on the streets runs a river of sadness. Blood in
the streets. It's up to my thigh. The river runs down
the legs of the city. The women are crying red rivers of
weeping. She came in town and then she drove away. Sunlight
in her hair.

Indians scattered on dawn's highway, bleeding. Ghosts
crowd the young child's fragile egg-shell mind.

Blood in the streets in the town of New Haven. Blood stains
the roofs and the palm trees of Venice. Blood in my love
in the terrible summer. Bloody red sun of phantastic L.A.
Blood screams her brain as they chop off her fingers.
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation. Blood is the
rose of mysterious union. There's blood in the streets.
It's up to my ankles. Blood in the streets. It's up to
my knee. Blood in the streets of the town of Chicago.
Blood on the rise. It's following me.

Indian, Indian, what did you die for? Indian says nothing
at all.

Josh Spurling - bass, drums, vocals
Jake Lawson - guitar

Recorded March 1996 - May 1996