when a pipe bomb doesn't make the mold
perhaps the stories we knew when we were young
are nothing than a fucked up fairytale
no honesty, virtues with a self depriving sense
we are losing all values

when is enough too much and when will we learn
that shit piles up to the same chord of chinese exports to america
we've lost our quality

so dance and sing of those fucking things
we held for years
make this place better than we found
even if it only breathes underground

this place is my home
a sheltered belief that we can make thing better
though we sink we swim like no other
we rely on no big brother