1. |
State of TheYounion
03:35
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Grab your guns. Let’s go to war. Let’s fight for something, Worth fighting for.
There’s a hole on your shoulders where your head used to be. In front of the trigger there’s gun smoke.
And behind it, there’s hypersensitivity.
What happened to this world, Where we have to fear what’s said? I’d die for your right to speak hate, But I’ll hate the fact I’m dead.
So, let’s talk.
I’ll take death over democracy,
If that’s what it takes to truly be free. We must all hang together,
Or we’ll sure as hell hang separately.
Let me be. Let me be free.
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2. |
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Well, I popped punk’s balloon. It had a message inside. Cut off the money,
And the blessings will subside.
I ain’t got the paper,
To write a pop-punk attack. Gave my paper money,
To a wolf named ‘Charlatan’ Guess it was too grateful to write back.
Sheep have wool.
Teeth have wolves.
Mosquitos bite until their stomachs are full.
I read a book that don’t lie. Told me I’d have a better life. I’d free William Baptist, But I think he’d rather die.
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3. |
TheCircle of Strife
02:38
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Oh, God, I deserve abandonment. I searched the web for love, But I still haven’t found it yet.
Fear not for your children, God. The world never leaves any hungry. It provides cable-fed love,
And an abominable ruse of normality.
Everything is content as I press keys with fingertips. If my eyes closed instead of opened,
Maybe I’d see what I’ve missed.
I never needed your divine guidance.
I can do this on my own.
Why would you crucify Christ to exemplify love, If I could find it on my cell phone?
How am I alone with any lover seconds away? I can’t run far enough,
But eternally you never stray.
How am I permitted to breathe?
Even the grants of damnation are not punishment enough for me. Six feet of dirt make all men equal.
Equally unworthy of encirclement by dirt that you willed.
Six feet of dirt. Buried in dirt,
Still it obeys your trust.
To die a martyrs death still wouldn’t be enough.
Made of dirt.
Thank you for your undeserving grace.
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4. |
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An eye for an eye makes the whole world see better. The flesh is continually tightening our fetter
Revenge is a medicine best not served at all. An endless line of trips and mistakes has never lead to a harsher fall.
I'd rather gouge out my eyes. Pluck them from my head. Than to ever lust after a mistress again.
I'd rather cut off my own hands. Make sure they're incapable of art. Than to ever kill another man, by way of trigger or way of heart.
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