lackofcolour 13
09/16/05, 10:20 PM
Somewhere Between Left And Right
So. There was this male musician sitting in his well furnished recording studio in the business district of Seattle where all great artists ever to walk on planet earth would work. And he was there to begin work on his next album. So he was in this memorial daze, gazing outside into this abysmal Seattle fall weather just pondering the horrors of modern world that he has no involvement in. And suddenly, the studio began to sink faster and faster into the earth below, and all he could do was scream.
“Why Am I falling?”
“I hate falling.”
“I hate falling to this other side.”
“I hate the other side so very very very very very very very much.”
And all he could do was begin making this song as he was falling. And it went something like this. 1. 2. 1. 2. 3. 4.
We must wake up from the other side of our own mourning bed.
We must contradict the words that our own mothers had us fed.
And in spite of nature’s dealings being currently unfair,
We reserve the right to protest, but we won’t share.
We spend our time, opining about when life was not this hell,
But we are the ones that force us to invade our neighbor’s well.
And to the mind of every child who might still have a dream,
We must cling we must cling we must cling.
Like a kid setting fire to an army of ants-
A Mass extinction from the sun.
It’s an innocence where we aren’t all to blame,
So we shall place it all on one.
Surrender fault, and we will get this done.
And then He fell through the Arabian sky. Oh it was a fantastic sight.
We must call our leaders liars,
and condemn their mortal souls.
With nothing to occupy our time,
We preach with no clear goal.
And although we have outlawed them,
if it means that we have won,
We’ll grab our guns, grab our guns, grab our guns.
We must box the fighters on our land,
Yet give them the right to stay,
While we fuel another mutiny five thousand miles away.
And in the alleys of our ghettos where we weap but never clean,
We must scream, We must scream, We must scream.
And the complex landed on the sand, and he would soon learn what he was really singing about.
While I try to show compassion,
I also sell this song.
I might be leading this congregation,
But what if we are wrong?
There is no answer,
Just the desert’s setting sun.
So. There was this male musician sitting in his well furnished recording studio in the business district of Seattle where all great artists ever to walk on planet earth would work. And he was there to begin work on his next album. So he was in this memorial daze, gazing outside into this abysmal Seattle fall weather just pondering the horrors of modern world that he has no involvement in. And suddenly, the studio began to sink faster and faster into the earth below, and all he could do was scream.
“Why Am I falling?”
“I hate falling.”
“I hate falling to this other side.”
“I hate the other side so very very very very very very very much.”
And all he could do was begin making this song as he was falling. And it went something like this. 1. 2. 1. 2. 3. 4.
We must wake up from the other side of our own mourning bed.
We must contradict the words that our own mothers had us fed.
And in spite of nature’s dealings being currently unfair,
We reserve the right to protest, but we won’t share.
We spend our time, opining about when life was not this hell,
But we are the ones that force us to invade our neighbor’s well.
And to the mind of every child who might still have a dream,
We must cling we must cling we must cling.
Like a kid setting fire to an army of ants-
A Mass extinction from the sun.
It’s an innocence where we aren’t all to blame,
So we shall place it all on one.
Surrender fault, and we will get this done.
And then He fell through the Arabian sky. Oh it was a fantastic sight.
We must call our leaders liars,
and condemn their mortal souls.
With nothing to occupy our time,
We preach with no clear goal.
And although we have outlawed them,
if it means that we have won,
We’ll grab our guns, grab our guns, grab our guns.
We must box the fighters on our land,
Yet give them the right to stay,
While we fuel another mutiny five thousand miles away.
And in the alleys of our ghettos where we weap but never clean,
We must scream, We must scream, We must scream.
And the complex landed on the sand, and he would soon learn what he was really singing about.
While I try to show compassion,
I also sell this song.
I might be leading this congregation,
But what if we are wrong?
There is no answer,
Just the desert’s setting sun.