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 statues of boredom therein lies

The fatal flaw of the red age



Because it was nothing like we'd ever dremt

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

And because it made no money nobody saved no one's life.



So we burned all our uniforms

And let nature take its course again

And the big ones just eat all the little ones

That sent 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.



Cuz this is nothing like we'd ever dremt

Tell Sir Thomas More we've got another failed attempt

Cuz if it makes them money they might just give you life this time.