|
di-no-saur-us |
|
dead kites in farmer's fields |
|
the jailed dreamers are growing gills |
|
so eat it up you maniacs |
|
eat the whole thing |
|
you maniacs |
|
fat-so-saur-us |
|
fat-so-saur-us |
|
the possibilities of open skies |
|
and the worms rule as silent kings |
|
so eat it up |
|
you fatsos |
|
gobble the whole thing |
|
you fatsos |
|
baby be absolutely quiet |
|
as we untie the boat |
|
and push ourselves from shore |
|
we'll remember you |
|
you poor souls |
|
you poor slaves |
|
they're building the city |
|
on your broken backs |
|
and what of your own fires? |
|
what of your own fires? |
|
we're leaving you now |
|
we're leaving you now |
|
when your cinders are so cold |
|
cold! |
|
baby be absolutely quiet |
|
as we untie the boat |
|
and push ourselves from shore |
|
we'll remember you |
|
you poor souls |
|
you poor slaves |
|
they're building the city |
|
on your broken backs |
|
and what of your own fires? |
|
what of your own fires? |
|
we're leaving you now |
|
we're leaving you now |
|
when your cinders are so cold |
|
cinders are so cold |
