|
The days blow by in agile moments of clarity |
|
and blind despair. |
|
With rage so thick it's bittersweet to see a smile |
|
come through here and there. |
|
You put your faith in living, |
|
but youthful idealism |
|
is no longer welcome here. |
|
(WOOOOOOOOH) |
|
I'm not dead yet. |
|
(WOOOOOOOOH) |
|
Hopes not dead yet. (*2) |
|
A hero's march down scorn filled halls defeats the charity |
|
of last years hell. |
|
Your vain eyes show no respect, |
|
just loss of recognition |
|
broken spirit burnt out will. |
|
Sing a song of cynicism |
|
a foul smell of shit decay and degradation |
|
in the midst of celebration. |
|
(WOOOOOOOOH) |
|
I'm not dead yet. |
|
(WOOOOOOOOH) |
|
Hopes not dead yet. (*2) |
