Tekster:
Bombs Over Providence Shake Your Body Politic

Ash and palm, burnt black, caked to my forehead, for we are the children of faith in dead gods. Fear not bedrooms nor states, as they are merely the

when we put our feet up on the words of those who've burned. These days we say it's better to get your lumps than never have seen your blood at all. We

think loud, I dare you) These dreams are as far-fetched as the nearest nation state. Run up the flag, run hard, and plant it right through your heart.

I got lamps and I got spikes, I recite just what I'm told. Break ground, push down, dig deep and throw. Split wood, lift hood, inhale and hold. Bomb set

I'm calling all intellectuals and other traitors; Rousers of the rabble and the instigators Get your war on and curry favour to United States of the

We dumb smart kids got guts; we're buying in without selling out. And we're great at parties. Misplaced-aggression chic, or ill-read rebel's grief, we

nothing's gonna stop me now. But when I hear it from old allies, boy, well, I get sidetracked. You can have it, kid, it's yours And you'll find me face