An address to the golden door I was strumming on a stone again Pulling teeth from the pimps of gore When hatched a tragic opera in my mind And it told of a new design in which every soul is duty bound To uphold all the statutes of boredom Therein lies the fatal flaw of the red age 'Cause it was nothing like we'd ever dreamt Our lust for life had gone away with the rent we hated 'Cause it made no money, nobody saved no one's life this time So we burned all our uniforms And let nature take its course again And the big ones just eat all the little ones That sends us back to the drawing board In our darkest hours We have all asked for some Angel to come Sprinkle his dust all around But all our crying voices they can't turn it around And you've had some crazy conversations of your own We've got rules and maps and guns in our backs But we still can't just behave ourselves Even if to save our own lives So says I We are a brutal kind, whoa 'Cause this is nothing like we'd ever dreamt Tell Sir Thomas More we've got another failed attempt 'Cause if it makes them money They might just give you life this time
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An address to the golden door
I was strumming on a stone again
Pulling teeth from the pimps of gore
When hatched a tragic opera in my mind
And it told of a new design in which every soul is duty bound
To uphold all the statutes of boredom
Therein lies the fatal flaw of the red age
'Cause it was nothing like we'd ever dreamt
Our lust for life had gone away with the rent we hated
'Cause it made no money, nobody saved no one's life this time
So we burned all our uniforms
And let nature take its course again
And the big ones just eat all the little ones
That sends us back to the drawing board
In our darkest hours
We have all asked for some
Angel to come
Sprinkle his dust all around
But all our crying voices they can't turn it around
And you've had some crazy conversations of your own
We've got rules and maps and guns in our backs
But we still can't just behave ourselves
Even if to save our own lives
So says I
We are a brutal kind, whoa
'Cause this is nothing like we'd ever dreamt
Tell Sir Thomas More we've got another failed attempt
'Cause if it makes them money
They might just give you life this time
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