Are you ready for our revolution? ‘Cuz we are comin’ with our wife-beaters, And flags bearing forgotten solutions. Look at our ideology’s features, And accept them as what should be believed. We’ll open your eyes to hypocrisy, And in the end, you all will be relieved That we have shown you what you could not see. Do not talk to me about what is true Because all those facts cover up the lies. It is more about what you wish you knew As you sit back and watch how the truth dies. Peace is over. It is time for combat, So I will yell, “Where are my soldiers at?”
We found you among the garbage and trash, But your big eyes instantly stole our heart. We will never think our decision rash. To find within our busy lives, a part Where you could stumble and pounce and grow up. We would play with your younger energy, Cuddle when you tired of being a pup, And create a life that was struggle free. Into our home, you brought your innocence, And left us with joy swelling in our chest, While lingering was a distemperence That we could not save, though we try our best. While you look down on us from up above, Please understand, we did it out of love.
It is time to go and play in the mud, Lathering it all over your body. It will help you pump out all the bad blood, And take your living, that has been shoddy, To allow for it to feel young again. Getting sloppy is not only for kids, So do not allow pretention to win, And do as the wallowing custom bids. If it’s too much, look to the salty sea, And let the warm waters wash away clean The grime of the day, leaving you pretty, Ready to return to the adult scene. You don’t know when you’ll get another chance To lose yourself in another mud dance.
If I were living in the Dark Ages, Where my feet tread would be worth a fortune. The spice that’s collected here in stages Would have been mined from the base of this dune. What could be carried away in a sack Would be stored away in someone’s attic, And when a little flavor they did lack, A tiny pinch from their stash, they would pick. But it did not work well for currency Because it would diminish when they ate, Then they would have to go back to the sea, So they could buy more morsels for their plate. You cannot give them grief for this small fault, For life is better with a little salt.
Freedom can be found along the river. I just need to follow the water north. Across a certain line, they deliver All who may be seeking who have come forth. I know that my man will search for me there, But it is my only form of guidance, And it is within its rushing flow where I can find a road map that gives a chance To a diff’rent life than the one I live. It is a life where I can have a voice, And where all of the options that they give, Allows me the right to make my own choice. It is a journey that may take me years, But it is worth facing all of those fears.
We stand at the edge of our precipice, Shouting our concerns over the canyon. We sit and wait for our message to kiss Ears of those who stand on the other one, But I do not think they are listening Because they are over there making noise About what they believe they are missing, Claiming our ideology destroys. If I could only get my voice louder Maybe they would listen to sound reason, But it looks to make their discourse prouder, Speaking of what can only be treason. I wish they would quit with all their yelling, So they could hear what it is I’m telling.
These are the things I cannot ignore, And even though it is not every day, There comes a time I have to close the door, And battle against the on-coming fray. It will allow me to, one day, emerge, And give you all me remaining time. It is not you I am trying to purge, But rather this piling mountain I climb. Some day, it will also happen to you, And I will try not to create a fuss. It is just something we all have to do. Even though, we hope it may escape us. Welcome to this modern society Where valuable time is what we pay.
Who is telling you that I am a sheep? Do you listen to what he has to say? Does his ideology start to seep Into your “original” thought ev’ryday? Can you tell me that your thoughts are your own When you pick them up from memes on Facebook? Or is your anger just an overblown Reaction to catchy sounding hook? Is it me or his short leash that you fear? How often are the words of your master The repeated ones I actually hear, Claiming I’m the one that is the bastard? You are far from the enlightened people, Just because you repeat the word, sheeple.
How can you look at what is happening, And then run to your alternative facts? You need to wake up from your fake napping, And look at the ways your argument cracks. The heat is not going to disappear Based on what you perceive, wish and hope. There is a right group of people to hear, You left behind to listen to a dope. You may want to crawl out of that pocket, And grow up to be the size of a man; You will see the future and protect it; Instead of grabbing what money you can. Will you continue to live with your greed While watching the land of the nation bleed?
Why do we no longer want to collect When we can find it at our fingertips? Does it allow a level of respect When all we do is scroll through YouTube clips? I prefer to listen to scratchy sound As the needle slips into the small groove, And the motor spins the record around, Providing the room a moment to move. Each song was designed to play to the next, Building up this great epic event. We follow along with liner note text Until the forty-five minutes are spent. This digital age is a bitter pill For us who treasure our stack of vinyl.