|
Land of treason-waste no reason- |
|
we are breathing fire |
|
We're packs of dogs- |
|
we're enemies of men-we are not desired |
|
Our face show- |
|
we've grown cold-but |
|
have not conspired |
|
Old hearts gone- |
|
the future's on-mother nations mired |
|
I like a recepticle for the chosen dead, |
|
we find our bodies clawed |
|
And with the scent of death, |
|
we find that we are not so very awed |
|
Loyalties burned- |
|
the words our blurred-overturn your own |
|
Walk like dogs and watch the doors- |
|
have your other stone |
|
Stop the toys that match disordered- |
|
calculate the thrones |
|
Feel the pulse descending- |
|
decaying hallowed tomes |
|
In the starving sense you worship- |
|
the nations of debris |
|
You wear a cost of sewage- |
|
that you've never ever seen |
|
The time is now-the vicious here- |
|
a stolen dinner code |
|
The license of the savage land- |
|
that you've always sold |
|
So bite the hand that needs you |
|
and bless another coal |
|
The virus never issues- |
|
from a cotton so very old |
|
As the lights come down |
|
You wash your hands and start to climb |
|
the ladder that you stole |
|
Slip the hatch-and spin the sword- |
|
the money lords are poor |
|
Push the tan-that rolls downhill- |
|
their sense of dream absorbed |
|
Still the cat that breaks the night- |
|
tie him to the core |
|
Chase the viruses that believe- |
|
that what's right is scored |
|
It's a senseless cash in of right for right- |
|
what's wrong is never gone |
|
And left is just a bassion for the fools |
|
golden dawn |
