They've got an army of accountants counting matchsticks,
|
And an arsenal of distraction tactics.
|
They'll use our senses against us:
|
Manipulating desire and consensus.
|
And they'll use guns,
|
They'll use tear gas.
|
I can hear the sound of boots on broken plate glass.
|
|
We'll use song as inspiration.
|
|
To be the rust in their machines is our intention.
|
|
It's time.
|
|
We've got to set it right, but these devils can't be fought with fists.
|
Dissent; they want to shut it down.
|
Just run your mouth, boy, you've made their list.
|
I lie down with one eye open now,
|
I know that sleep is the cousin of death.
|
The hammer's swinging down...
|
|
Fight back until your last breath.
|
|
You wonder why we always play it safe?
|
Our comforts are tying us down,
|
And holding us back.
|
|
-----------------
|
The New Brutality
|
| Paint It Black |
