| Will we live polite or travel legs?
|
| Legs that travel time, but believe i can
|
| Mine that yellow gold where the horses ride
|
| Next i’ll believe in the guillotine
|
| Don’t carry all that weight upon you
|
| You’ll feel better soon, i know you will
|
| Busy soul feels heavy under
|
| These electric machines
|
| Swinging mighty hard
|
| Swinging mighty fast
|
| Under coal trains that are deep with fill
|
| Clouds forming eyes and the rings
|
| The horses always ride so much faster, son
|
| Don’t carry all that weight upon you
|
| You’ll feel better soon, i know you will
|
| Busy soul feels heavy under
|
| These electric machines
|
| Will we break free or will we fail?
|
| With the coal that’s alight at the fingertips
|
| Such a shiny, covert-run addiction
|
| That smile gnashes swords and scissors that cut
|
| Bellies that hold with the shoveling snow
|
| Shiny red pains empty into new homes
|
| Will we break free or will we fail?
|
| With the coal that’s alight at the fingertips
|
| Don’t carry all that weight upon you
|
| You’ll feel better soon, i know you will
|
| Busy soul feels heavy under
|
| These electric machines |