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 all
the statutes of boredom
Therein lies
the fatal flaw
of the red age
'Cause it was nothing
like we'd ever dreamt
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
And you've had
some crazy conversations
of your own
We've got rules and maps
and guns in our backs
But we still
can't just behave ourselves
Even if to save
our own lives
So says I
We are a brutal kind
whoa
'Cause this is nothing
like we'd ever dreamt
Tell Sir Thomas More
we've got another
failed attempt
'Cause if it makes
them money
They might just give
you life this time