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 statues of boredom therein lies

The fatal flaw of the red age



Because it was nothing like we'd ever dremt 

Our lust for life had gone away with the rent we hated 

And because it made no money nobody saved no one's life.



So we burned all our uniforms 

And let nature take its course again 

And the big ones just eat all the little ones 

That sent 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.



Cuz this is nothing like we'd ever dremt 

Tell Sir Thomas More we've got another failed attempt 

Cuz if it makes them money they might just give you life this time.