| Every evening we meet downtown slip underground into the basements
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| There’s an agent who’s tracking us he knows what’s up he’s felt vibrations
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| Shake this quiet town but now his ear is to the ground
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| Our secret’s out
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| Pack up the gear
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| Load up the van and hurry back to the safe house
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| Send a wire through the network that they’ve infiltrated the resistance
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| So we gotta burn our records now
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| C’mon and burn them up
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| And melt them down into a statue for the town
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| A monument to the underground
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| We’ll destroy all documents that could prove that we exist
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| They’ll be sifting through ashes desperate for the evidence
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| No they won’t stop 'til they find something to sell
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| All they’re gonna find are bombshells
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| C’mon and blow it up
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| The whole compound
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| With distortion that resounds
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| A memorial for the underground
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| And so we’ll burn it down
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| On the periscope we watch familiar informants selling us out
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| They trade for bad haircuts, some tight black pants and a sparkling new sound
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| Now the radio transmits a hollow carcass of the resistance
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| 'cause they’ve gutted out the urgency and replaced it with impotence
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| Our sweat is more than bleeding stage make-up
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| Our words aren’t trite they’re bloody dangerous
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| Our songs are the lifeblood of the resistance
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| C’mon and tear it up
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| And burn it down with explosions of our sound
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| And dig a grave for the underground
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| But the songs stuck in our heads won’t be burned and left for dead
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| They’re the songs we’ll never sell
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| We keep them locked within ourselves
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| C’mon and tear it up
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| No they won’t stop 'til they find something to sell
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| There’s nothing to find 'cause we blew it all to hell |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song A Dirge for the Underground , by - Attica! Attica!. Song from the album Dead Skin / Dried Blood, in the genre Инди