1. |
1
04:03
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Now we are all sons of bitches
There is no high ground
Only mud, and the stench of those who will it all to char
The slightest waves still sink the fleet
A noble paralysis, a careful rationale
Cozened by progress and damned by birth
Too cowardly to rend the hand that sins
I build a mask and spite my face
I am sound and fury. I signify nothing
Novelty is marring, a gimmick for the bored
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2. |
3
03:42
|
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His scattered view gained
By flawed vain gestures
Detach and discard
Withdraw to protect
Laud the triumph
Hide the shame
Market self perception
Lionize the means.
Omit the ends
Flee with those who by now know
to live in group delusion
Find your tribe
Paint your face
Worth based in unbending pride
No novelty in marring thoughts
Front the storm
Preach to choirs
Find your tribe
Paint your face
Wall yourself in
Fight off insight
Yes, I say, I am a rock
In this scattered field to which I grasp
And I’ll add this hill to my list
Of places to die with honor
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3. |
6
05:31
|
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They will inherit this crippled system
A gift from an era long gone
Our old meaning, our old ways
There is no relief from the past
Thousands of years and no balance
In the name of tainted progress
Glory to those who made the mire
And damn those who call it so
To ponder or react
To wallow or attack
I fret for what I will not know
From which I will be spared
Now we leer at what is done
And we beam at what we’ve made
A dam that stalls our birthright
One cliched and obsolete
Think it down and start again
Make it new and start again
Ponder
React
Wallow
Attack
A tragedy of the commons
Emptied by the swollen mass
When our numbers have collapsed
Make it new and start again
This is what it had to be
The fallout of growth; control
Life is no longer a cycle
But the lion man remains
Cozened by progress
Damned by birth
But the lion man remains
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