I’m not usually one to post lyrics, but every time I hear this song, it blows my mind.

Who Invited The Russian Soldier? - Every Time I Die

Read the interview with Keith Buckley below!

“Not too long ago ETID frontman Keith Buckley was hanging out at a dive bar, when a woman who seemed too young to be there bumped into him while dancing. She spilled his drink, and he started yelling “What the fuck are you doing?!” “Afterwards, I felt really bad about it,” the singer says. “I realised I was officially that old dude who doesn’t like it when kids have fun. It’s very defeatist.” Turns out the girl works with a friend of his, so he apologised the next day for being “grumpy old man.”

Thinking about it, he began correlating the defeatist feeling with stories he’d read about Russian soldiers. “About them marching in the cold, and how they’d shoot themselves rather than endure any trauma.” This train of thought became the fuel for “Who Invited The Russian Soldier?”

Revolver Magazine, Nov ‘09 

Wait until they send your son home in a box.
See if you’re dancing when water is everywhere.
Anguish is endless but deaths unambiguous.
Wave as it carries him off and pose while it fits you in hospital gowns.
Flirt with the men dressed in white.
Slip into bed with the fire that consumes our house.
Sing on your surveillance tape.
Smile in your autopsy photo for once.
Phone up the boys that have buried your bones.
Where do you get off loving life? As if it’s done any of us any good

You’re going to wish you were me when the unsuspecting are dragged to their graves and you’re standing on the edge holding a rose.
Dead where we stand and you concern yourself with such things as your status and what’s in fashion?
Don’t say you can’t be this bothered.
Death becomes us all.
You’ve got some nerve having hope in this ghost town port of call.

Someday your insides will turn themselves out.
Tell me what purpose our efforts have served when we end up in the ground?
More acts will follow the roles we have played.
Everything loved will expire. I’ve seen it all and I’m worse off because of it.
Good men have died in my arms.
I’ve been everywhere yet we’ll end up at the same depth. What’s the point?

You’re going to wish you were me when the unsuspecting are dragged to their graves and you’re are on the edge holding a rose.
You’re standing on the edge holding a rose.
Don’t say you can’t be this bothered.
Death becomes us all.
You’ve got some nerve having hope in this ghost town port of call.

There’s nothing to see here. And nothing gazes back at me.
There’s nothing to see here. And that nothing looks back at us.

Now go listen to the song!