Next! Next! The voice that stinks of corpses of whiskey and mud. It''s the voice of the nations, the thick, thick, voice of blood ... Next! Next! And each time I''m with a woman and I take her to my bed, she whispers and laughs through my head ... Next! ... You''re next! All the naked and the dead should hold each others hands as I scream out loud each night in a dream no-one understands ... Next! ... Next! And when I''m not screaming in a voice cold, dry and hollow... I stand on endless, naked lines of the following and the followed ... Next! Next! One day I''ll cut my legs off, I''ll burn myself alive, I''d do anything, anything, just to keep out of line, just to stay out of line and never to be next! No, never to be next! No! Na! Na! Na! Next!