With mockery of luxury
And hostility to all the powers that be
It's better to reign down in hell
Than to serve the rules of taste
We'll burn our poems to keep warm
So we'll burn our poems to keep warm
We're a blunder in the street
We don't strive for happiness
And there's comfort in defeat
Knowing that we believe that there's more to nature than charade
Ruins show that flourishes will fade away
And trumpets will be blown
For now the future is the fiction that we own
What a wonder to behold
We're the sons and daughters
With no call to arms
To keep up in the race
Show us to the nearest window
Where we can throw our money out
We'll paint your walls and steal your clothes
We'll paint your walls and steal your clothes
We're a blunder in the street
We don't strive for happiness
And there's comfort in defeat
Knowing that we believe that there's more to nature than charade
Ruins show that flourishes will fade away
And trumpets will be blown
For now the future is the fiction that we own
What a wonder to behold
Just strain your eyes and try and understand
Could the monster make a man?
Strain your eyes, try and understand
Could the monster make a man?
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
