| It takes individuals to make statistics
|
| With sophistication the shapes get shifted
|
| The risks we take make the race ballistic
|
| So shake your fist or get fatalistic
|
| I’ve gotta make a list of reasons why I’m not a fatalist
|
| That’s not a way to live with the weight of this world the way it is
|
| You can push paperclips for the sake of your kids
|
| Or shake your tits and wait tables for minimum wage and tips
|
| Or relax in a state of bliss, trapped in the Matrix
|
| Watching the latest clips of fallen dictatorships
|
| Eating potato chips with flavourless dips
|
| But to achieve weightlessness, you must believe you created this
|
| Whether it’s done consciously or unconsciously
|
| Whether you walk nonchalantly or run constantly
|
| Whether you live under palm trees or march to the drum’s beat
|
| Complicity comes back to haunt your sleep
|
| And pride and obstinacy, like monsters, creep
|
| Inside these songs of freedom the soul longs to speak
|
| You gotta sow if you wanna reap; |
| still, karma runs deep
|
| Sometimes you can’t see the cause of cosmic grief |
| It takes individuals to make statistics
|
| With sophistication the shapes get shifted
|
| The risks we take make the race ballistic
|
| So shake your fist or get fatalistic
|
| In the East, soldiers roam with raging hormones
|
| With radiophones they bring the sword to stones
|
| And lay poor bones to decay in war zones
|
| As the oldest poems and ancient lore known
|
| Gets ignored and thrown on the floor when the door’s blown
|
| Looters roar home; |
| there’s no more shalom
|
| A sore groan rises from inside the Sorbonne
|
| As another throne tries for the glory of Rome
|
| And when the mousetraps close, send in the backhoes
|
| And start drillin' the plateaus, lookin' for black gold
|
| Wherever the map shows gas, tank tracks go
|
| G. I. Joe attacks… Damascus ho!
|
| It’s like, first to act, last to know, ain’t that so
|
| But even the biggest assholes and total wackos
|
| Must have souls that reflect the supernatural
|
| They just catch colds and forget about the macro
|
| It takes individuals to make statistics
|
| With sophistication the shapes get shifted
|
| It takes individuals to make statistics |
| With sophistication the shapes get shifted
|
| It takes individuals to make statistics
|
| With sophistication the shapes get shifted
|
| The risks we take make the race ballistic
|
| So shake your fist or get fatalistic
|
| Spirit sickness grows deep as we dig ditches
|
| And pig pen pits, asleep to the big pictures
|
| And even those who witness the sickness just get suspicious
|
| And turn to scriptures lookin' for reasons to burn witches
|
| There’s so many pernicious ways to earn riches
|
| And so many kitchens bursting with vermin and dirty dishes
|
| I hope the first thirty-six courses were delicious
|
| And worth every risk, ‘cause dessert’ll be vicious
|
| Like a circle with the center waitin' patient for penetration
|
| Like a flag incineration on a day of veneration
|
| In a veteran’s parade, afraid of intimidation
|
| A sleeping dragon’s been awakened and the next generation
|
| Will face the implications and waste their innovations
|
| Building gates to defend their nation against the hateful vengeance taken
|
| On the same men impatient to put limitations |
| On reproductive freedom and call it bush administration |