Imgormiel
Part of the furniture
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2004
- Messages
- 4,372
Political Suicide - Wrapped around
It's ok.
We will only, hurt you softly.
Now go away.
Come back when you are wrapped around.
Violence and violence, for the sake of decadence.
It all becomes too much that it makes you choke.
Environments versus tyrants.
And policies put you at stake.
It's so perspicuous.
The theft of it just becomes a fucking joke.
Apathy blows them all away.
Where tomorrow has no today.
Deafness is the only trust you can hear.
The riot of apoplexy.
And poverty is the new sexy.
The shameless palms on the face show only fear - thoughts are not a method to survive.
Doctor Spot.
Saviour of their souls.
Punish them softly.
Let them reanimate themselves.
Politics and rhetoric.
Where words will make you sick.
Salvation is only found by staring into space.
Prosperity and austerity.
There is no difference to me
It's just hell with another face.
Slogans and anthems.
A noise that binds into nothing that you can hear.
Numbers annotated where fiscal direction is berated.
And oh my god we have lost our way.
Leaving you with taken chances of cheer.
The only trust you can salvage is the lie.
Doctor Spot.
Aimless are their souls.
Punish them softly.
Let them regenerate themselves.
Protests and occupation.
Songs sang with frustration.
Illustrating screams made on a guitar.
Bankers and politicians.
Roll in so much money they need an optician.
The rest of us suffer while they keep eating caviar.
Tampering and turning.
Bending rules and changing fools.
While profits soar for the rich.
Top of the tree fortunes reach.
Careless about dirty streets.
Full of people made their bitch.
It's no wonder trust is paid for in hard cash.
Doctor Spot.
Hurting are their souls.
Punish them softly.
Let them re-medicate themselves.
Lying, usurping. Blinding and hurting.
Ash trays made from empty skulls.
Make them count to ten.
Make them count to ten.
Make them count to ten.
Make them count to ten…
It's ok.
We will only, hurt you softly.
Now go away.
Come back when you are wrapped around.
Violence and violence, for the sake of decadence.
It all becomes too much that it makes you choke.
Environments versus tyrants.
And policies put you at stake.
It's so perspicuous.
The theft of it just becomes a fucking joke.
Apathy blows them all away.
Where tomorrow has no today.
Deafness is the only trust you can hear.
The riot of apoplexy.
And poverty is the new sexy.
The shameless palms on the face show only fear - thoughts are not a method to survive.
Doctor Spot.
Saviour of their souls.
Punish them softly.
Let them reanimate themselves.
Politics and rhetoric.
Where words will make you sick.
Salvation is only found by staring into space.
Prosperity and austerity.
There is no difference to me
It's just hell with another face.
Slogans and anthems.
A noise that binds into nothing that you can hear.
Numbers annotated where fiscal direction is berated.
And oh my god we have lost our way.
Leaving you with taken chances of cheer.
The only trust you can salvage is the lie.
Doctor Spot.
Aimless are their souls.
Punish them softly.
Let them regenerate themselves.
Protests and occupation.
Songs sang with frustration.
Illustrating screams made on a guitar.
Bankers and politicians.
Roll in so much money they need an optician.
The rest of us suffer while they keep eating caviar.
Tampering and turning.
Bending rules and changing fools.
While profits soar for the rich.
Top of the tree fortunes reach.
Careless about dirty streets.
Full of people made their bitch.
It's no wonder trust is paid for in hard cash.
Doctor Spot.
Hurting are their souls.
Punish them softly.
Let them re-medicate themselves.
Lying, usurping. Blinding and hurting.
Ash trays made from empty skulls.
Make them count to ten.
Make them count to ten.
Make them count to ten.
Make them count to ten…
