Your arm was connected to a grenade
There is no more hand
Only the grenade
In blood

And its started countdown
You will be killed
By the mutational mechanism
Made of your flesh

Your hand became the material
Of which bomb is made of
And you are the material for the experiment
Run wherever you want, you have some seconds

Blood trickles on the floor from
The ugly mechanism
The grenade was made of the hand
Now you will be blasted out

See ya in Pittsburgh