Here¡¯s to the day when all the skies turned white.
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Warm powder coated parking lots, familiar thoughts,
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most higher forms of life.
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And all the commotion must have scared away the sun,
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but not before it took its vengeance on us all.
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The idiots with the vacuum switch left us behind.
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Repeat again, they got it all and gave back nothing.
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Yeah, another anthem subterranean resides right beneath 1945.
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With my arms glued securely to my sides,
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all that I can do is yell my guts dry.
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Buttons and citizens left red and depressed.
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Countdowns and businessmen all dressed up,
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dead inside and it¡¯s gone. It¡¯s all gone.
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New cultures built of dirt and flames
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look to the sky and point to blame us all.
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While the men have gone away to fight,
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the innocent huddle in the cool pacific moonlight.
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Shadows of this place softly congregate
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but never show their faces to the other monster races.
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Yeah, another anthem subterranean resides right beneath 1945.
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Walking streets hidden underneath the streets.
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Whiffing ash and metal, this time we¡¯re left behind.
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We¡¯re left behind.
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So now we sing the new refrain.
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We sing sub-terrain, sub-terrain, sub-terrain.
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The Honshu Underground
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| No Trigger |
