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