Battle Cry (Rerelease)

This is the life under thunder storms, uppers like lightning and downers like Grunge Tic-Tacs

Those banging their heads to Kurt Cobain with their feet up in an upper class cul-de-sac

We live to learn the conscious expression is whack and society carries around flack because now being fat is worse than being black

Soak in the poison and believe in lighter days and lights at the ends of dark tunnels, believe that the chants and battle cries of a generation of that make believe that a brighter day shall come, as we burn Mercedes and thousand dollar tees

Beauty is only what you perceive

We rise with swords and guns as mother earth grieves

The noise drifts away and so do autumn’s leaves; it is we who should flee the smog and the desolate black clouds

The stories read aloud to children are corporate mechanisms and your sex life is a euphemism

The young boy plots revenge with slits on his wrists while his brother is in the next bar getting pissed

We fell in love with an antonym, waiting for the horns, flutes and the rest of Gabriel’s orchestra to begin

 

They sing and sing, buildings fall to the earth, but some could say this is a good start

the beginning, the birth without a hand held camera in sight

The wraiths write and the flickering lights from human indulgence splashes onto the scene like a bat out of hell

His words are hate out of heaven, we try to escape life unscathed but we lost so much time that we can’t find seven or eleven

We lost so many memories stored in the back of a machine

Your smile is that of a backwards gleam,

We don’t believe in family, don’t believe what’s said

What the fuck you going to do when you cut yourself and they criticize how much you bled

Fall back into the universe your peripheral blood red

The protest and the songs of the dead condone the joke and what we don’t know

We pray to a god and its divinity

We’d die for what we haven’t seen, just to fall from infinity

 

In a million years?

We’ll be happily searching through thousands years of rhymes and slime, but we go on searching line about you and me, we search for the crack of lightning that lets you understand an epiphany

Misspelling your future, we have an app for that

Talk back to the battle cries of a generation, will result in a crack or a slap

The greatest consumers of all, born into the era of crack

Hypocrites rendered into a higher place

The joke is that none of them know who they are at all

Small, skinny, black, white or tall, technology killed the Trojan horse as the entire history falls

We philosophize whilst snorting the purest lines

Party in South London while listening to grime

From every fight to all mankind, tessellate in their tirade, the art is that we laughed at all and the only crime is that they never allowed us to fall

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