| It’s a bit like a trip, but you hit it with a slip of a tongue, like a whip,
|
| and we’re sinking, it ain’t
|
| Cool to be cool, though you may think it a laudable tool of self evaluation,
|
| of ego cultivation, n' I’m
|
| Rolling my eyes like the stones for the lies, is it really all about the size
|
| or just a simple vice…
|
| Oh, and it makes the news
|
| Oh, cos it sings the blues
|
| I feel the fire flare alight inside me Higher so I can see
|
| N' aspire to survive this fight in spite of Liars and travesty
|
| Oh fire
|
| Did you think that I’d blink, that I’d go and take the ink to your control,
|
| that I’d sell my soul, and
|
| Does it ring any bells that it sells that we’re living out of shells in a shotgun, if we couldn’t shoot,
|
| We’d have to run, and finally the cerebral fantasy, better genes and machines,
|
| so we can die looking like
|
| We’re teens, like snapshot scenes in smithereens…
|
| Oh, and the ones we choose
|
| Oh, witch hunting fools
|
| I feel the fire…
|
| Look there it is in the news again, yeah
|
| There it goes singing the blues again
|
| Fire flare alight inside me…
|
| Fire, return my joy cos I’m so Tired, tired of me Inspire the weary eyed to see the
|
| Ire and Irony
|
| Oh fire |