It always ends in checkmate, no matter how you play
Go through it all, you'll still find yourself dead at the end of the day
Your comrades fall, and with each fall, you're left weaker
You stay put and you hide, and you tell her to go seek her
God doesn't help you, for he doesn't care
All he ever does is his Thousand Yard Stare
And he stares in the distance, and he stares right there
And he stares and he stares and he stares
Killing your enemy is the best way to win
But what is the point if it's all going to end, anyway?
Your movements are lateral, you're going nowhere
All you can do is look in front of you and stare
The chess-playing nihilist, he ruffles his hair
The movements were wrong, so he doesn't care
It all ends the same, we all end up there
In God's Thousand Yard Stare
Killing is worthless, it keeps you alive
It makes you stronger and strengthens your strife
To be here, to be there, to just be alive
Murder or treason, they're already dead
God forbid that on us you tread
The chess-playing nihilist, he ruffles his hair
The movements were wrong, so he doesn't care
It all ends the same, we all end up there
In God's Thousand Yard Stare
The chess-playing nihilist, no longer he sings
He got up from the table and laid down his king
And he grabbed his coat and collected his things
He tried not to show that he did try to cling
But his grip was weak