Wounded bastard forfeits you
Filthy lucre, bleeding you
Burning bridges – “Got mine, fuck you.”
Greener pastures, amber waves
Nine tenths of living; a vulturine gospel
A coat of knives, the safety of your trust
Nine tenths of living; a wreath of puppets
Erected and in line; upright, smiling design
Reverent hostage, manic creation
Cannibal muse, addicted promise
Jagged blessing, tenfold consignment
Moneybag fucker! Blue blood? Let’s see!
You’d let it come inside you, you’d let it speak for you,
In praise of heroes – but they sold you out.
Ten pounds of prosperity, in a five pound bag of failure.
Lords it over your corpse, always eats the most
They want your seed, they want your womb,
They want your labor, and your coffers empty!
The one who spends the most wins the most
To populate world and nation with the seeds of their vision
Forced procreation, Stockholm behind your eyes
Safety net schematic - paid for and sponsored by
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