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In a world and in it's sounds |
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In any street in any town I go |
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There's a wreckage of desire |
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Of feelings never hired or sold |
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Where cellophane and thunder always come |
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And the factories of fantasies belong |
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I can only find the murder machine |
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I can only find the murder machine |
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From a notion of the times |
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To the hoodlum kitchen minds that die |
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From every mutant hour |
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To those who have the power who don't try |
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Where the surplus sounds of sanity grow hoarse |
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And an abject slave mentality gets worse |
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I can only find the murder machine |
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I can only find the murder machine |
