Ration my breath - terror clandestine in my chest. Mangled, I lay on a foreign forest floor. Caught in an instant, divided by distance. Alone in the fray, clutching my trigger I pray as I make amends with death on a distant shore.
Such is the fate of the nation state (despite the myths they propagate). The narrative never fits the crime. Democracy's died this death a thousand times. The masses kneel before the golden cross - held by the priest who bows at the feet of the king.
We stand alone in the dust of what could be, fighting to find our humanity.
Bury me with my name in an unmarked grave - another casualty to the vanity of history. The war marches on after the killing ends. Take our lives: Colonize our minds.
I've been digging through timelines, historical bylines I find the fatal flaw in our design lies between thoughts we had and words we knew - between what we're told and what is true. Who fuels the fascist? A classist - inculcating the masses in passes under the contrived countenance of contrition.
The victor writes the story - more often burns the manuscript. Set fire to a pyre, cremate the crimes that they commit. But the flames kept us warm, so we bit our tongues and tasted scorn.
Silent Planet - Northern Fires (Guernica) Lyrics
Silent Planet - Northern Fires (Guernica) Lyrics
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Ration my breath - terror clandestine in my chest. Mangled, I lay on a foreign forest floor. Caught in an instant, divided by distance. Alone in the fray, clutching my trigger I pray as I make amends with death on a distant shore.
Such is the fate of the nation state (despite the myths they propagate). The narrative never fits the crime. Democracy's died this death a thousand times. The masses kneel before the golden cross - held by the priest who bows at the feet of the king.
We stand alone in the dust of what could be, fighting to find our humanity.
Bury me with my name in an unmarked grave - another casualty to the vanity of history. The war marches on after the killing ends. Take our lives: Colonize our minds.
I've been digging through timelines, historical bylines I find the fatal flaw in our design lies between thoughts we had and words we knew - between what we're told and what is true. Who fuels the fascist? A classist - inculcating the masses in passes under the contrived countenance of contrition.
The victor writes the story - more often burns the manuscript. Set fire to a pyre, cremate the crimes that they commit. But the flames kept us warm, so we bit our tongues and tasted scorn.
Such is the fate of the nation state (despite the myths they propagate). The narrative never fits the crime. Democracy's died this death a thousand times. The masses kneel before the golden cross - held by the priest who bows at the feet of the king.
We stand alone in the dust of what could be, fighting to find our humanity.
Bury me with my name in an unmarked grave - another casualty to the vanity of history. The war marches on after the killing ends. Take our lives: Colonize our minds.
I've been digging through timelines, historical bylines I find the fatal flaw in our design lies between thoughts we had and words we knew - between what we're told and what is true. Who fuels the fascist? A classist - inculcating the masses in passes under the contrived countenance of contrition.
The victor writes the story - more often burns the manuscript. Set fire to a pyre, cremate the crimes that they commit. But the flames kept us warm, so we bit our tongues and tasted scorn.
Writer: UNKNOWN WRITER, WILLIAM SCOTT PUTNEY
Copyright: Lyrics © Royalty Network
Copyright: Lyrics © Royalty Network