|
Beautiful to live in poverty |
|
Just to spite what they're selling |
|
Take a thousand hits to prove the rest and I'll move in |
|
Millimeters still won't mean shit against well-done subversion |
|
Fathers of invention will one day turn in their graves |
|
When their own sons and daughters manifest destiny into a lesson to others |
|
Sent away my crippled, let the old ones categorize their death camps |
|
They're all dead |
|
It'll burn, burn, burn |
|
Like they did to the anarchists at their stakes |
|
And burn, burn, burn |
|
Like the histories they stole from us |
|
One day patriotic thugs will dance to songs of justice |
|
And cringe and rack guns of shame |
|
Well it may take a team of well-rounded hoodlums |
|
In full riot gear to unrest objection |
|
A well-controlled media to pick out our terrorists |
|
When bureaucrats start dying from cancer |
|
There are already businessmen who'll market bottled water |
|
And purified aerosol solution, guess who's their target? |
|
Seven approaching a measure off the map |
|
And you'll see me dance in the street once again |
|
It'll burn, burn, burn |
|
Like they did to the anarchists at their stakes |
|
And burn, burn, burn |
|
Like the histories they stole from us |
|
One day patriotic thugs will dance to songs of justice |
|
And cringe and rack guns of shame |
|
And it'll burn, burn, burn, like they did to the anarchists |
|
And it'll burn, burn, burn, like the histories they stole from us |
|
One day patriotic thugs will dance to songs of justice |
|
And give apologies for immeasurably acted perfection |
|
It'll burn, burn, burn |
|
Like they did to the anarchists at their stakes |
|
And burn, burn, burn |
|
Like the histories they stole from us |
|
One day patriotic thugs will dance to songs of justice |
|
And cringe and rack guns of shame |
