| Speak of heroes
|
| You’re swift to nominate them
|
| Oh, darling be a sacrificial lamb
|
| Oh, poor boys fighting peasants in foreign lands
|
| How loudly you praise them
|
| Oh, but where were you then?
|
| Off dancing with your debutante
|
| Her skin is soft and warm
|
| But her eyes are cold and dead
|
| It serves the greedy well
|
| To say men’s hearts are dark
|
| But I believe there’ll be a light that shines
|
| Which now is just a spark
|
| No gods, no masters
|
| No kings nor their court jesters
|
| No gods, no masters
|
| No kings nor their court jesters
|
| Bury the last
|
| Sons of avarice
|
| Tell the teachers and nurses and soldiers
|
| They must be lazy and/or dumb
|
| While you, you earn a hundred to one
|
| Oh, but don’t you fucking utter the word
|
| Meritocracy
|
| So what’s our priorities
|
| With people or markets being free
|
| I hear Sudan is a dusty place
|
| And every day a few less black faces
|
| It serves the greedy well
|
| To say men’s hearts are dark
|
| But I believe there’ll be a light that shines
|
| Which now is just a spark
|
| No gods, no masters
|
| No kings nor their court jesters
|
| No gods, no masters
|
| No kings nor their court jesters
|
| Bury the last
|
| Sons of avarice
|
| No gods, no masters
|
| No kings nor their court jesters
|
| No gods, no masters
|
| No kings nor their court jesters
|
| Bury the last
|
| Sons of avarice |