The silent the severed the path of raven the words are dead
One thousand ladies in ribbon all adorned, underneath
the sun underneath the earth underneath an awful banner
And golden trumpets. they're braying like clockwork mules
in a time of plague, in a time of war
The poisoned landscape defiled by the factory pipe, the
sickened land the sickened sky. Cold eyes are spying from the
top of the pyramid:
the government thug, the government snitch.
But I want something much more different
not these factories of prisons
I wish that the earth was green again
I wish I had a gun in my hand
Someday I will come back in from the cold