54-40 - Sound of Truth

Текст песни

Set The Fire
Sound Of Truth
Some kind of order is what we’re after
The sound of truth doesn’t matter any more,
happy poor
There is a trick some kind of lure
No means of knowing sure anymore,
happy poor
There’s only me and some of you
Everyday we lose a few planned phrases
that keep us cool
A pair of friends we have to eat
You and I will always be chasing
a carrot with bloody feet
I’m sick and tired of all the people
Don’t you know there are no equals anywhere,
never were
Stop think for a second
Don’t ask dumb questions anymore,
happy poor