3d:
|
In city shoes
|
Of clueless blues
|
Pays the views
|
And no-mans news
|
Blades will fade from blood to sport
|
The heroin's cut these fuses short
|
Smokers rode a colonial pig
|
Drink and frame this pain i think
|
I'm melting silver poles my dear
|
You bleed your wings and then disappear
|
The moving scenes and pilot lights
|
Smithereens have got 'em scaling heights
|
Modern times come talk me down
|
And battle lines are drawn across this town
|
Parisian boys without your names
|
Ghetto stones instead of chains
|
Talk 'em down cause it's up in flames
|
And nothing's changed
|
Parisian boys without your names
|
Riot like 1968 again
|
The days of rage yeah nothing's changed
|
more pretty flames
|
In school i would just bite my tongue
|
And now your words they strike me dumb
|
The flags are false and they contradict
|
They point and click which wounds to lick
|
On avenues this christian breeze
|
Turns its heart to more needles please
|
Our eyes roll back and we beg for more
|
It frays this skin and then underscore
|
The case for war you spin and bleed
|
The cells you fill screensavers feed
|
The girls you breed the soaps that you write
|
The graceless charm of your gutter snipes
|
The moving scenes and suburbanites
|
And smithereens got 'em scaling heights
|
Modern times come talk me down
|
The battle lines are drawn across this town
|
English boys without your names
|
Ghetto stones instead of chains
|
Hearts and minds and u.s. Planes
|
Nothing's changed
|
And english boys without your names
|
Riot like the 1980's again
|
The days of rage yeah nothing's changed
|
More pretty flames
|
|
-----------------
|
False Flags
|
Massive Attack |