you take a boy, call him a man and this is what you get:
a mind that is unready for the loss and the regret.
you take a country that is broken by the promise of its name
so its dreams are made on tv, obscenity and fame.
no modus operandi, this is generation vague;
a mission statement that is written for the children of the plague.
it runs through all our houses and it walks over the graves
of the principles we stood for and the bodies of the brave.
i made a pact with providence to even up the dead,
to trade the beasts and murderers so the innocent could rest.
the boatman will not sleep tonight, his day has just begun.
i write the cheque to pay the fare for every last one.
amongst the cardboard cutouts i am silent as a blade
i am broken glass and diamonds i am terrified, remade
the billboards keep us captive and the tv keeps us sane
I am happy in my promise to release you all again
faint onto the floor my love, i hoped you'd never see
all the spilling out of justice on this fresh dishonesty.
as the markers like an abacus slide up towards my neck
the bullet cases and the fingerprints are keeping me in check.
the tenement is silent as we limp to the third floor
and you keep me straight and quiet as we come up to the door.
it's ajar and there are shadows there, you break into a run
but you're inside and i'm gone before the setting of the sun
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