We've come so far,
|
and here we are.
|
Admits the endless hum.
|
No wind worth chasing.
|
No revolution.
|
No blazing battle drum.
|
We laughed as we said,
|
"the music is dead."
|
We've plucked out our eyes;
|
we've shattered its head.
|
My work is so weary
|
so let it be said
|
"Father, thy will be done."
|
|
Instruments make the best sounds
|
as they're breaking.
|
People make the best smiles
|
when they're faking.
|
Note are shattered,
|
blood is splattered.
|
The night is our for the taking,
|
and what shall we say now that it is gone?
|
In our eyes are no tears;
|
in our hearts are no songs,
|
and now we've gone pale, what was it we saw?
|
The beauty, the horror,
|
of rock that is so raw.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Dissonance Of Discontent
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Showbread |