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LYRICS
Premature Anti-Fascist
Under the Yoke
Everything You Said
In Defense of Blood & Land
Hope You Choke
Uncommon Valor
Hooverville
3/91
Cemetery Ridge
Premature Anti-Fascist
It shook the air as the crowd
returned my clenched fist.
With a riot we marched to jail.
Shouting "long live the republic!"
The cobblestones echoed with defiance.
We stood footsteps from revolution.
Do you remember '37?
When we thought we'd finally found a way.
Where were you in '37?
When we made those fuckers pay.
We came here to kill fascists,
not commit suicide in front of them.
No false heroics.... |
Under the Yoke
don't wave your banners around me. your sultry symbols of glory
have never upheld anything they mean, because we've been under
the yoke so long we've internalized romantic images of american
sons dying for the stars and stripes. planting flags and cemeteries
in the conquered soil of a nation on the march while the weak are
trampled under boots and rifle butts. every culture needs its heroes
and the bloodier the better. no gettysburg can even compare. when
you've got them by the throats their hearts and minds will follow
you, but they won't forget that it's all a sham. no they won't forget.
we've been riding the fence so long the subversion of seemingly
noble ideas about democracy has been forgotten and ignored.
millions pay respect to the monuments erected in the victor's wake
while the victims bear the burden of a conqueror's will. who's
betrayed by a nation's heritage when the lies stack up and the
half-truths amount to a whole lot less than the ends were even
worth. misled, mistaken, bolstered by a backdrop of bayonets,
bravado, and deceit. who could ever forget the cost of living or
the dying in the name of liberty. the scalps, the napalm, or the
support of authoritarian regimes. remember the underhanded
motives. don't submit, just break free and fuck the damage. |
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Everything You Said
walking through broken buildings and railroad tracks
trying to find out where we lost it as I talked myself
out of suicide today I remember everything you said
about being a tool for the state and how my life meant
nothing. I heard about the riots and about the ones who
tried to challenge the regime as I stood among those
pulling triggers, defending what? would I rather stand
in the gallows? would I rather watch these ghettos burn?
did it take a million dead to change my mind? did it
have to take a million dead to make me hate what I've
become? fighting for identity just another body in the
street littering this nation state I remember
everything you said it made me wonder if I was alive
or dead and if my life meant nothing chalk me up as
a casualty of this so-called democracy I'd rather be
called in the proscriptions we're all running down a
trench and I'm climbing out to see for the first time
which side I'm fighting on and more importantly how
many bodies stack up underneath every time I do what I'm
fucking told. I don't want their identity I refuse to
lay down passive at their feet doing everything they say
I remember everything you said about being a tool for
the state and how my life meant nothing and how my life
meant nothing........ |
In Defense of Blood & Land
you're the biggest bully on the block
armed with slogans, your fists and flags waving
rallying around the demagogues, thoughtlessly embracing
the legends of a nation living in its own reflected glory
we're the proud heirs to a thousand mai lai massacres
and wounded knees
I couldn't count the dead
I wouldn't even want to
recoiling at the thought of blood we wash our hands with
as the patriots salute that fucking flag
flag-burners jerk from punches
as the ritual continues, handed down father to son
as the agitators spread their propaganda
defense of freedom never chained so many hands
we've got to tear this fucker down!
another generation falls in line and clutches rifles
-defend to the death your blood and land
another generation hanging flags outside their windows
-defend to the death your blood and land
another generation, another fifty million
when will you fuckers ever stop
it's just blood and land and that's not fucking much.. |
Hope You Choke
I see you making promises I don't think you can keep
don't try convincing me of anything you believe
promises on t-shirts have never proved a thing
it's what inside your heart and mind and what it means to you
if convictions are just fashion
what are you trying to show the world
when the trend comes to an end
will you still be hanging around
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I can't stand to see
the things I believe
turned into a style
and I can't help but think
what you say are lies |
I'm standing by
not moving an inch
while you mock
everything I've tried
to do with my life |
because I've never seen
somebody try so hard to be so right
You can take all those promises I knew you wouldn't keep
to remind yourself of all the things you thought you should believe
slogans printed on your clothes have never meant a thing
it's what's inside your heart and mind and what it means to you |
Uncommon Valor
was I content to swallow all the lies I
reached for self-deception or american dream?
clinging like a christian to the contradictions.
heritage makes all the questions hard to answer.
why are you asking and why should I even care?
I've got my pedestal, my work ethic, and the
government in my pocket. I've got moral authority
and the most favored demographics. how could somebody
just walk away from the legacy, even if it's tainted?
do you think you will prove anything? you martyrs,
you're all the same. you will soon forget.
second chances at equality, words on paper, and
people ought to know an empty gesture when they see it.
the myth of freedom, so hollow and profane
when the anvil breaks the hammer, then you will see it.
you sure showed me why a black man wants to kill me
in a part of a city I've never seen. selectively denying
the oppression facing me and just afraid to look back.
while everyone is burying their head in the grave of a
shallow middle class, who's concerned with the shadows
of what's right? they've got their pedestal, their
work ethic, and the government in their pocket.
they've got moral authority and the most favored demographics.
eyes shut, living every lie you said.
one foot in the door, the other in somebody's back
and now I've got what to reject what I can't stomach
to pretend. I'll never follow in your footsteps.
why can't I see the world through honest eyes?
your subtle economic genocide makes me want to tear
down every prop you try to defend.
every heartbeat questions what you live for.
second chances at equality, words on paper, and
people ought to know an empty gesture when they see it.
the myth of freedom, so hollow and profane,
when the anvil breaks the hammer then, you will see it.
......you're all fuckers |
Hooverville
what does it mean when the proud take a beating for pennies and die for nothing more?
angry fists feed hungry hearts and minds. what about mine. form outside the bars
the lies are justified. the fingers start pointing and you know which side you're on.
well, honestly, chances are that you don't even care because you're getting something
or you're just blind. you turn your back when the blood starts spilling. you rationalize.
because they're not dead does'nt mean you're not killing.
the bitter fires that must be raging
in the spirit of the broken hands and backs
just wanting what the others have two worlds up
half a world away or just one block
there's a murdered martyr bleeding
just wanting what the others have two worlds up
how does it feel, half-dead yet breathing, living in a home that reads fragile on the side?
hungry words fuel angry hearts and minds. what about mine? while inside the bars
outbreaks of violence as the desperate start clutching and the rabble falls out of line.
with a whimper the last of the bleeding hearts swallow everything they stood for
because they're getting something or they're just blind. they turn their backs when the
blood starts spilling. because you can't see bruises doesn't mean there's no one
bearing the blows.
the bitter fires that must be raging
in the spirit of the broken hands and backs
just wanting what the others have two worlds up
half a world away or just one block
there's a subdued father bleeding
just wanting what the others have two worlds up |
3/91
jeremy says he's happy in the letter I got yesterday.
time is fading quickly and our youth, it seems so far,
far away. five years, they will make a man of me yet and
now I regret the day I let them take me.
I walked right into their hands
right into their fucking hands
I should have been kicking and screaming
but I wasn't even thinking
my life's not even worth
the paper it's written on
and all I want to do is
run away from here
drifts with me into my sleep
like a secret I can't keep
and I can't capitulate
what would everybody say?
so what did the bloody knuckles
prove and who's the better for
it and where's that leave me
when we play for real?
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drifts with me into my sleep
like a secret I can't keep
and I can't capitulate
what would everybody say? |
so what did the bloody knuckles
prove and who's the better for
it and where's that leave me
when we play for real? |
another father's smothered pride, innocence lost either
way. there's a part of me that won't forget and I still dream
about those days. coward, you're not even worth your breath!
what makes you think you have a right to question
anything they say? |
Cemetery Ridge
keeping warm by the light of a television, in an empty room, in an
emptier life. making promises to myself. trying to validate myself.
lashing out at the fiction and it hurts when the eyes roll back.
when the means defeat the ends, you cheated.
what did you mean to defend your usa, your dirty hands, the
backsliding, or the choice? now you're standing next in line like the
cowards who came before you and I can't ignore it. it's a question of
wrong or right.
I remember the ride up. it was snowing outside and I could see your
breath, yet we seemed so dead. the nearest light was miles away.
talking about how my dad died and who he'd hurt and how we'd
have to pay. I know why you tagged along, but the means defeat the
ends, you cheated.
what did you mean to defend your usa, your dirty hands, the
backsliding, or the choice? now you're standing next in line like the
cowards who came before you and I can't ignore it. it's a question of
wrong and right.
you said you'd never sell yourself.
were we really young and stupid?
am I really crazy?
how could all those empty victories
amount to so much more?
watching friends go by.
losing another battle deep inside.
some things are better left unsaid. |
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