Paroles The Shipwreckers de Sole and The Skyrider Band

Textes et Paroles de The Shipwreckers

Oh human kind, ye shaped of chimpanzees and rumors of rumors
And days of fast talkin' artillery make this modern; full of death and petroleum
You've got blood and diamonds dripping from your linens saying "peace is expensive"
I'll take a raincheck or two-thousand years later, rolled up into putty
And eight year olds are choking to death, swallowed by buses
So stoned and never make it to the podium
Pretend to care and get called out for not sending tanks to Shanghai yet
It's too much work, we can't stomach the future with out the thought of cheap labor
Middlemen of middlemen lining up to take cuts of what they could never create with their own hands
Swollen glands, pretending as gods, the lesser the evil, more likely to vanish
As common is more likely to make you classic than ugly
Living is easy with so many lousy architects
It's been a cold day in hell, it's been a cold day in heaven
And all between wreaks of prefab teen-spirit, sucked through the coolest scenes
Places we've never been are vexing at us
Don't need no Cuba, the only Guantanamo I know is on the radio
Hearing about you is like ripping off my fingernails with battery acid and calling it a touch up


Welcome to the ocean, let the champaign fill your lungs
The shipwrecker's name is only remember by the sea
Welcome to the ocean, let the champaign fill your lungs
The shipwrecker's name in the ocean it is writ


And this campaign was paid for by the sons of Genghis Khan
You expect me to stop reading, just because writers stopped reading the signs on the walls
Before the building falls, I told you, so I say before their words can do me anymore harm
Don't want you to pray for me (this ain't no revolution)
They'll be no photos of no fake Ches holding AKs for me
I'll make no calm calculation, only to promise struggle is eternal
Since the Cold War ended, we still behind the Wall Street Journal
The meek shall inherit the outskirts and make a choice
Isn't a life a currency enough? So why we huddle emotionally spent?
All is fair in Laissez-faire pyromania, smoke screens surround every other thought
But I know which ideas belong to me, and those I credit to modernity
Make waste to a thousand former me's who knew, everything under the sun is a joke
But the joke didn't let up, so lets just be fair
The world turns in squares, and all those on the underside
Those on the underside get crushed mercilessly

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