| I don’t mind stealing bread
|
| From the mouths of decadence
|
| But I can’t feed on the powerless
|
| When my cup’s already overfilled
|
| But it’s on the table
|
| The fire is cooking
|
| And they’re farming babies
|
| While the slaves are working
|
| The blood is on the table
|
| And their mouths are choking
|
| But I’m growing hungry
|
| I don’t mind stealing bread
|
| From the mouths of decadence
|
| But I can’t feed on the powerless
|
| When my cup’s already overfilled
|
| But it’s on the table
|
| The fire is cooking
|
| And they’re farming babies
|
| While the slaves are working
|
| The blood is on the table
|
| And their mouths are choking
|
| But I’m growing hungry |