You can chop off my blonde head,
but it will grow back,
and I'll invite my other tow-headed friends,
of which there are many,
and we'll drink your poison,
but we won't leave.
This is war, my friend.
Eventually our heads will be blown off,
but you won't get any satisfaction,
for it'll be the wind that decapitates us
after our tops turn white and dry,
and the pieces rain down like bullets,
but that will only bring more of us.
You'll never win!