Catching whispers on the phone but the whispers get away.
Making entries in our diaries with all the things we think they say.
Can you hear it?
I can't hear it!
Can you see it?
I can't see it!
We've been feeding the vermin,
Now they're hanging around.
Can't we take back the sermon that we tossed to the crowd?
Obsessed with the excess but stuffed with a crumb,
The lessons progress less as professors succumb.
They're craving confusion when starved of sense,
And graven confusion has been heaven sent.
Can you do it?
I can't do it!
This is the way the sick people play.
Hands in their pockets goosebumps on display.
This is the way the well people drink:
Mouths on spigots of the sick people's sink.
In the town square,
In the city hall,
In the war room,
On a conference call,
They set the date to drop the bomb, And sit and wait with perfect calm.
I wanna do it!
If you call this living,
If you call that love,
If you'd call the cops before God above,
If you'd call the cops before God below,
If you call this culture,
Then i think you'll know,
The Stone cold con and the 6-6-6,
We're trading our eyeballs in for *.
We're trading our idols in for rapprochement.
We're burning the bridges that we're crossing on.
I wanna do it!
compositores: SYD BUTLER, TIM HARRINGTON, HARRISON HAYNES, SETH JABOUR
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