An address to the golden door I was strumming on a stone again Pulling teeth from the pimps of gore when hatched A tragic opera in my mind... And it told of a new design In which every soul is duty bound To uphold the statues of boredom therein lies The fatal flaw of the red age 'Cause it was nothing like we'd ever dremt Our lust for life had gone away with the rent we hated 'Cause it made no money nobody saved no one's life this time. So we burned all our uniforms And let nature take its course again And the big ones just eat all the little ones That sends us back to the drawing board. In our darkest hours We have all asked for some Angel to come Sprinkle his dust all around But all our crying voices they can't turn it around You had some crazy conversations of your own. We've got rules and maps and guns in our backs Though we still can't just behave ourselves Even if to save our own lives so, says I, WE ARE A BRUTAL KIND. 'cause this is nothing like we'd ever dremt Tell Sir Thomas More we've got another failed attempt 'cause if it makes them money they might just give you life this time. Bu döküman AkorMerkezi.com'da yayınlanmıştır. http://www.akormerkezi.com