Laugh in the face of death under masthead.

Hold your breath through late breaking disasters,

Next to news of the trite.

And the codes

And the feelings that meant to be noble

Like coke in the nose of the nobles

Keeps it alight.



And the wrath

And the riots

And the races on fire

And the music for tanks with no red lights in sight.



Got you



Cryin'

Cryin'

Oh whyin'

Oh my my my



Gold is another word for culture.

Leads to fattening

Of the vultures

Till this bird can barely fly.



And Mary and David smoke dung in the trenches

While Zion's behaviour never gets mentioned.

The writings

On your wall



And the blood on the cradle

And the ashes you wade through

Got you callin' God's name in vain

Leaved the damned to damn it all!



It's got you



Cryin'

Cryin'

Oh whyin'

Oh my my my



Broken nose, coloured glasses

Can't see for the thorns

And you just can't stand no more!

What a clumsy kind of low

Time to take the wheel and the road

From the masters

Take this car, drive it straight into the wall

Build it back up from the floor.



And stop our



Cryin'

Cryin'

Oh whyin'

Oh my my my



Our cryin'

Our cryin'

Our cryin'



Still you try, try, try