Wallflowers

Transmission, third World War, third round A decade of the weapon of sound above ground No shelter, if you’re looking for shade I lick shots at the brutal charade As the polls close like a casket, on truth devoured A silent play on the shadow of power A spectacle monopolized The cameras eyes on choice disguised Was it cast for the mass who burn and toil Or for the vultures who thirst for blood and oil? Yes, a spectacle monopolized They hold the reins, stole your eyes All the Fist-a-gons, the bullets, and bombs Who stuff the banks, who staff the party ranks More for Gore or the son of a drug lord None of the above, fuck it, cut the cord! Lights out! Guerrilla radio! Turn that shit up! Lights out! Guerrilla radio! Turn that shit up! Lights out! Guerrilla radio! Turn that shit up! Lights out! Guerrilla radio! […]