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



Because it was nothing like we'd ever dreamt

Or lust for life had gone away with the rent we hated

And becase it made no money nobody saved no one's life this time



So we burned all our uniforms 

And let nature take it's course again

And the big onese just eat all the little ones

That sends us back to the drawing board



In my darkest hours

We have all asked for some

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



'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