| From the left shoulder of a nation
|
| From skies lacking the mechanisms of death
|
| From the burdened bellies of wrought iron angels we come, we drop, we’re bombs
|
| And we’re in. Hordes of us, scraping over the walls
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| There is no darkness so deep that we cannot paint it present
|
| There is no cause so bleak that we will bail in vain
|
| We are the brain’s army, dispatched in vein and we c-c-course
|
| Dead eyes run through. |
| Ink and pigment splattered on barren ground
|
| Swords aloft!
|
| Screaming battle cries in all tongues lost
|
| The old blood boiling over timeless ideals
|
| We are staining every soul present enough to look up; |
| Go home
|
| Scarred and tattoo the sound all over your body, for these
|
| Sun-dipped blades herald brighter spirits coming
|
| And that gray lump you call a head is sliced clean off
|
| Once a benevolent president tears open your cheek, a tongue will come flopping
|
| out
|
| It will lay on the ground licking slush off our frozen streets
|
| Then it will die. |
| Your love curdled already besides
|
| I’ll kiss your hand, but you won’t see the smirk beneath my lowered eyes
|
| Nothing can get wise
|
| All of my children are carrying knives
|
| More pressure. |
| More fire. |
| More peace. |
| More vibe
|
| More people. |
| More freedom. |
| More heat. |
| More live
|
| More voice. |
| More feet. |
| More song. |
| More rise
|
| More echo. |
| More cloud. |
| More test. |
| More sky
|
| No quarter! |
| No vote! |
| No power! |
| No vice!
|
| No king! |
| No vision! |
| No womb! |
| No right!
|
| More signal! |
| More move! |
| More center! |
| More light!
|
| More pressure! |
| More fire! |
| More peace! |
| More vibe!
|
| More!
|
| How 'bout a little warhead in your abdomen? |
| Ooh, how 'bout a stain?
|
| How about armada is to javelin what battle is to game? |
| Oh!
|
| Inverted world I’m thinking Nobel Prize
|
| Because the marriage of preemption and commerce? |
| That was mine
|
| I prefer a phallus to a circle every time
|
| I prefer to make a beat that wipes a village from the map
|
| I prefer a falling payload when it’s dancing on your lap
|
| Are you perverts having fun yet?
|
| It all comes out grey and matters less with each sunset
|
| Here come a bomb. |
| The sound above language
|
| The sound off-kilter with casualties pending
|
| The patented death. |
| The action-packed ending
|
| It’s not sarcasm. |
| We’re training eyes
|
| Hands were we can see them. |
| Ass in the sky
|
| Asinine lies for assassins in need
|
| Of motives for making that human ink bleed
|
| Champions, fly
|
| Calling all living. |
| Affirming all dreams
|
| Screaming all hell. |
| As real as it seems
|
| Rescind your explosions. |
| Get up off toes
|
| Kids are at attention tended towards prose
|
| Smolder at shows, shoulder all comers
|
| Dirty old bushmen your season is waning
|
| Sorry about peace, big fucking bummer
|
| Ignite a new kind of soul fusing father and mother
|
| Here come the heat. |
| Nuclear Summer
|
| More pressure. |
| More fire. |
| More peace. |
| More vibe
|
| More people. |
| More freedom. |
| More heat. |
| More live
|
| More voice. |
| More feet. |
| More song. |
| More rise
|
| More echo. |
| More cloud. |
| More test. |
| More sky
|
| No quarter! |
| No vote! |
| No power! |
| No vice!
|
| No king! |
| No vision! |
| No womb! |
| No right!
|
| More signal! |
| More move! |
| More center! |
| More light!
|
| More pressure! |
| More fire! |
| More peace! |
| More vibe!
|
| More pressure! |
| More fire! |
| More peace! |
| More vibe!
|
| More! |
| More! |
| More! |
| More!
|
| More! |
| More! |
| More! |
| More!
|
| More! |
| More! |
| More! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Nuclear Summer , by - Youngblood Brass Band. Song from the album 20 Years Young, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп