jikan myshkin
06-24-2008, 07:02 PM
Sentimental thoughts regarding nothing
Western culture will fall
In a bloodless massacre of greed and ego
China will not be able to sustain
And will crash killing the people
The new currency of the world
Will be black gold
Love has run and hid
And now is a refugee in a foreign land
Black or white in the white house
A crook has no prejudice
And corruption is only a matter of time
The people will suffer obliviously
The gap between rich and poor
Is wider than any bridge
And the poor are too poor to care
And the rich too rich
While the future generations weeps in its glass womb
I heard the whispered name ‘democracy’
In some fitful dream
But to my relief when the lights came on
It was nowhere to be seen
I’ve traded places with my reflection
My double now walks the streets
And fire and brimstone
Brings him to his knees
The marked up price cannot lift the soul
Out of this sodden sea
Trade is always fair
When you get more than me
Your sons will be ****ed in the arse
In the name of liberty
While your daughters’ blooded lost virginity
Lines heaven’s golden streets
In the holy name of culture
The berlin wall was never torn down
The mind is far too strong
The left and right collide
Leaving nothing in between
The right to live, the right to vote
Are concepts long gone
Spoken by grandfather time from his iron stage
And no one can utter the word ‘repent’
When all the voices are stolen away
And the memory of the sweetest touch
Starts to burn and fade
Rebuilding civilisation on the corpses of the innocent and free
An inferiority complex, now millions must die for me
It was prophesised in books and poems but illiteracy is the new craze
Turn off the television, we don’t want to see
Leave the phone off the hook, we don’t want to hear
Turn the lights down, we don’t want to be seen
Let us just sit here in peace and wait
Waiting is all that there is left
The protests fell on muddy ground, the stain will wash off
The placard that read ‘human rights’ was left on the shelf
The poet who writes with a fire in his gut
Is a pathetic alcoholic freak
And I realise now, to my great shameful glee
How sentimental one must be to see all these things I see
Western culture will fall
In a bloodless massacre of greed and ego
China will not be able to sustain
And will crash killing the people
The new currency of the world
Will be black gold
Love has run and hid
And now is a refugee in a foreign land
Black or white in the white house
A crook has no prejudice
And corruption is only a matter of time
The people will suffer obliviously
The gap between rich and poor
Is wider than any bridge
And the poor are too poor to care
And the rich too rich
While the future generations weeps in its glass womb
I heard the whispered name ‘democracy’
In some fitful dream
But to my relief when the lights came on
It was nowhere to be seen
I’ve traded places with my reflection
My double now walks the streets
And fire and brimstone
Brings him to his knees
The marked up price cannot lift the soul
Out of this sodden sea
Trade is always fair
When you get more than me
Your sons will be ****ed in the arse
In the name of liberty
While your daughters’ blooded lost virginity
Lines heaven’s golden streets
In the holy name of culture
The berlin wall was never torn down
The mind is far too strong
The left and right collide
Leaving nothing in between
The right to live, the right to vote
Are concepts long gone
Spoken by grandfather time from his iron stage
And no one can utter the word ‘repent’
When all the voices are stolen away
And the memory of the sweetest touch
Starts to burn and fade
Rebuilding civilisation on the corpses of the innocent and free
An inferiority complex, now millions must die for me
It was prophesised in books and poems but illiteracy is the new craze
Turn off the television, we don’t want to see
Leave the phone off the hook, we don’t want to hear
Turn the lights down, we don’t want to be seen
Let us just sit here in peace and wait
Waiting is all that there is left
The protests fell on muddy ground, the stain will wash off
The placard that read ‘human rights’ was left on the shelf
The poet who writes with a fire in his gut
Is a pathetic alcoholic freak
And I realise now, to my great shameful glee
How sentimental one must be to see all these things I see