Ohh ohh ohh ohh ohh. Ohh ohh ohh ohh ohh. . Innocence burned, a line on the stake. Tortured and dumped in nameless graves. Centuries waned, authority died.
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Here inside this quiet room there's direction. Outside in the sultry noon, time reflection. A million people scurry, they're looking for advice. None willing to lend charity, just exercise their.
This isn't art, this is suicide. In a social way. I don't have the need and I don't have the time. I'll tell you why. . 'Cause I think about it all the time.
One - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight!. Days go marching by. There and back I never wait for a confident reply. Truth is stark and leaves its mark as limited constraints.
Here is the church. There is the steeple. Open up the door. Corporations are people. Wait, what did he say?. What the f*ck did he say?. It couldnt last.
There's a watch in my pocket. And its hands are broken. The face is blank. But the gears are turning. . Confusion. Is a fundamental state of mind. It doesn't really matter what I'm figuring out.
Oratory of hope and glory a whisper and a rhyme. An effigy, a soldier out of time. Citizen and patriot you can't be far behind. The funeral, weighing heavy on your mind.
Can't you feel it, can't you see it?. The promise of prosperity. It's overwhelming you and me. It afflicts us like a disease. . Ubiquitous compelling too.
I think this is a song we can redo. In every language of every country we go to. . Fa fa fafa fa fa fafa raise your voice!. Fa fa fafa fa fa fafa raise your voice!.
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I think this is a song we can redo. In every language of every country we go to. . Fa fa fafa fa fa fafa raise your voice!. Fa fa fafa fa fa fafa raise your voice!.
From the time she could crawl she was all draped in macrame. She was preened and redeemed in a church that tried to show the way. She was taught to never ask for more.
Offer me eternity. And I'll trade a cup of coffee and a dime. Looking for a handout. On behalf of those who have so little time. . But who wants to live on just 70 cents a day?.
Have you been to the desert? Have you walked with the dead?. There's a hundred thousand children being killed for their bread. And the figures don't lie they speak of human disease.
have you been to the desert?. have you walked with the dead?. there's a hundred thousand children. being killed for their bread. and the figures don't lie they speak of human disease.
Hit the road in wander mode, inquire along the way. Savoir-faire in full despair while living day-to-day. My heart is not a cold cauldron of proof. I don't ever need to prove myself to you.
Nothing more, nothing less. An icon on the wall, decoration and duress. That which many strive to be. It's the marble statue staring over me. . And nobody has the will to tear it down.
And progress is never intelligently planned. It's the facade of our heritage, the odor of our land. They speak of progress in red, white and blue. It's the structure of the future as demise comes seething through.
Oh can't you feel the nostalgia son I wonder about ya. Modernistocrat Horatio Alger. Clever never hesitating in the baiting ever waiting. For the canticle of manacles abating.