Crying

Laugh in the face of death under masthead. Hold your breath through late breaking disasters, Next to news of the trite. And the codes And the feelings that meant to be noble Like coke in the nose of the nobles Keeps it alight. And the wrath And the riots And the races on fire And the music for tanks with no red lights in sight. Got you Cryin' Cryin' Oh whyin' Oh my my my Gold is another word for culture. Leads to fattening Of the vultures Till this bird can barely fly. And Mary and David smoke dung in the trenches While Zion's behaviour never gets mentioned. The writings On your wall And the blood on the cradle And the ashes you wade through Got you callin' God's name in vain Leaved the damned to damn it all! It's got you Cryin' Cryin' Oh whyin' Oh my my my Broken nose, coloured glasses Can't see for the thorns And you just can't stand no more! What a clumsy kind of low Time to take the wheel and the road From the masters Take this car, drive it straight into the wall Build it back up from the floor. And stop our Cryin' Cryin' Oh whyin' Oh my my my Our cryin' Our cryin' Our cryin' Still you try, try, try