Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hands Held High, artist - Linkin Park.
Date of issue: 13.05.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hands Held High |
Turn my mic up louder, I got to say something |
Light weights stepping aside when we come in |
Feel it in your chest, the syllables get pumping |
People on the street, they panic and start running |
Words on loose leaf sheet, complete coming |
I jump in my mind, I summon the rhyme I'm dumping |
Healing the blind, I promise to let the sun in |
Sick of the dark ways we march to the drumming |
Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping |
Fuck that, I wanna see some fists pumping |
Risk something, take back what's yours |
Say something that you know they might attack you for |
'Cause I'm sick of being treated like I had before |
Like it's stupid standing for what I'm standing for |
Like this war's really just a different brand of war |
Like it doesn't cater to rich and abandon poor |
Like they understand you, in the back of their jet |
When you can't put gas in your tank |
These fuckers are laughing their way to the bank and cashing their cheque |
Asking you to have compassion and have some respect |
For a leader so nervous in an obvious way |
Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay |
And the rest of the world watching, at the end of the day |
In the living room laughing like, "What did he say?" |
Amen, Amen |
Amen, Amen |
Amen |
In my living room watching but I am not laughing |
'Cause when it gets tense, I know what might happen |
The world is cold, the bold men take action |
Have to react or get blown into fractions |
Ten years old, it's something to see |
Another kid my age drugged under a Jeep |
Taken and bound and found later under a tree |
I wonder if he had thought the next one could be me |
Do you see the soldiers that are out, today? |
They brush the dust from bulletproof vests away |
It's ironic, at times like this you'd pray |
But a bomb blew the mosque up, yesterday |
There's bombs on the buses, bikes, roads |
Inside your market, your shops, your clothes |
My dad, he's got a lot of fear, I know |
But enough pride inside not to let that show |
My brother had a book he would hold with pride |
A little red cover with a broken spine on the back |
He hand-wrote a quote, inside |
"When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die" |
Meanwhile, the leader just talks away |
Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay |
The rest of the world watching, at the end of the day |
Both scared and angry, like "What did he say?" |
Amen, Amen |
Amen, Amen |
Amen |
With hands held high into the sky, so blue |
As the ocean opens up to swallow you |
With hands held high into the sky so blue |
As the ocean opens up to swallow you |
With hands held high into the sky, so blue |
As the ocean opens up to swallow you |
With hands held high into the sky, so blue |
As the ocean opens up to swallow you |
With hands held high into the sky, so blue |
As the ocean opens up to swallow you |
With hands held high into the sky, so blue |
As the ocean opens up to swallow you |