I Feel An Army In My Fist (Feat. Andrew Neufeld) – A Loss For Words – letras

They bash in smoking Dunhills and a set conflagrationThey pave a wasteland and call it a generationYour cellphones won’t capture the drone overheadThey compel you back to bedYou’ll wonder when they come for you nextIt’s Monday morning and you can’t help feeling aloneIt’s Monday morning when you have the wrong skin toneToo sad to be jealous, too angry to be sadI won’t go quietly, or be happy with what I haveWhen despair becomes hate, hate becomes rageThings never changeIt’s always more of the sameThey try to sterilize the streetsThe sewers have been bleachedStill the pimps and rats creep underneath your streetsThe encroaching reach, the watchmen we breedLumbering robots, spitting sulfurA belting of the state’s wound like a soft peachIt’s Monday morning and you can’t help feeling aloneIt’s Monday morning when you have the wrong skin toneToo sad to be jealous, too angry to be sadI won’t go quietly, or be happy with what I haveWhen despair becomes hate, hate becomes rageThings never changeIt’s always more of the sameGive me a sledgehammer on every fucking face a nail