An address to the golden door

I was strummin 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

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

And because it made no money

Nobody saved no one's life this time



So we burned all our uniforms

And let nature take its course again

And the big ones just eat all the little ones

That sends 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 dreamt

Tell Sir Thomas Moore we've got another failed attempt

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

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