The boy is listening to those records from the past He wants to make them last For they make him feel alive They are the voices of the faces on the wall
He listens to them all Hangs on every little tale they tell Knows them all and their life stories Shares their pain and shares their glories
One day he even cut their names upon his skin They mean that much to him For them he'd take the test
His bedroom window opens to the evening air The fox is in his lair The volume of his system is full on But the neighbors moan and the parents call This angry noise is the muzak of the wastelands
Wastelands, the wastelands, wastelands
The boy is dressing in the fashion of the day The kids all dress that way, you can tell them anywhere The boy looks out and sees his friends are waiting there In the cold electric glare
Of those lamps that make you think that night is day They drag their lusts into your sight With shouts and screams they meet the night
They block your way in twos and fours In uniforms from city stores They're closing in, who knows the score It won't be long before A martyr's blood is nourishing the wastelands
Wastelands, yes, it won't be long before A martyr's blood is nourishing the wastelands
Wastelands, the wastelands Wastelands, oh, wastelands
Wastelands, yes, it won't be long before A martyr's blood is nourishing the wastelands A martyr's blood is nourishing the wastelands Wastelands, oh, wastelandsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
