A chance encounter at a service station boiled my blood and left my brittle body shaking / It’s like I’ve travelled back in time, lager louts and violent crime, a crimson cross to mark the spot, the god forsaken.
I see a fist connecting with a face / I see appropriation, desecration, gangs of mindless racist reprobates / I need to feel like there’s something that’s worth saving in this place / But all I see is hate.
How we struggle to find meaning in the ‘facts’ / A dialogue so porous that the language drips and trickles through the gaps / Each word uttered loses pertinence and tact / Muted by the noise of the attack.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
