Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fear and Loathing in Mahwah, NJ, artist - Titus Andronicus. Album song The Airing of Grievances, in the genre Инди
Date of issue: 26.10.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Merok, XL
Song language: English
Fear and Loathing in Mahwah, NJ |
Why do you do the things you’ve done |
And how dumb would you have to be |
To do them again like I know you’re going to |
If you’re the poet you say you are and beauty’s in everything you see |
Then how can love exist in a world run by people like you |
Because when there’s suffering, you’re there |
From southern trees, you hang them in the air |
The world screams out in agony and you don’t care |
But should the shit hit the fan |
I just pray you will not be spared |
Fuck you |
You took a heart with so much room for love |
And filled it with hatred and rage |
Until there was nothing left but for it to shrivel up and die |
People will tell you that if you don’t love your neighbor then you don’t love |
God |
But no god of mine would put light in such unrighteous eyes |
Now the way we hold each other so tight |
Would look more like a noose if held up to the light |
Because we betray each other in dreams every night |
Now let’s never speak of it again, all right |
Even now I curse the day, and yet, I think |
Few come within the compass of my curse |
Wherein I did not some notorious ill |
As kill a man, or else devise his death |
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it |
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself |
Set deadly enmity between two friends |
Make poor men’s cattle break their necks |
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night |
And bid the owners quench them with their tears |
Oft have I digg’d up dead men from their graves |
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors |
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot |
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees |
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters |
‘Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead |
Tut! |
I have done a thousand dreadful things |
As willingly as one would kill a fly |
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed |
But that I cannot do ten thousand more |