| Oh, my fallen one
|
| Let complacent to the surface
|
| And if I only could’ve been there
|
| Then I would’ve seen the urge
|
| And I’ll carry you
|
| Through the rhetoric and shells
|
| Of exploding heads and sand bags
|
| Thrown by bigots, green by blue bands
|
| Close the batons, fill the jars
|
| Seal the windows, lock the doors
|
| Paranoia will eclipse the rational and spill
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| Scare the people with hysteria
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| It’s a battle monumental
|
| And the narrative
|
| Led the hungry to the arts
|
| With a lure of false promises, a fear of touch
|
| And they built a world
|
| Switched on search lights on the brim
|
| And invented their pariah, at which everyone was shouting
|
| Close the batons, stock the drawers
|
| Seal the windows, lock the doors
|
| Take a bayonet and don’t let anybody in
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| Scare the people with hysteria
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| It’s a battle monumental
|
| Drive of formation, alienation
|
| Drive of formation, alienation
|
| Drive of formation, alienation
|
| Drive of formation, alienation
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| Paranormal anesthesia
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| History lessons disappear
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| Scare the people with hysteria
|
| Architecture of amnesia
|
| It’s a battle monumental |