Here in the land that Abraham was promised to receive We listen to you catechize from your pulpit overseas You mourn the proof of our barbarity
Dry your eyes, O Pharisee, a settler's cant we both speak And we both read from the same old played out scripts and hum familiar tunes Fixed frequencies, stuck in locking grooves
We both profess noble intent As we civilize human impediments If your hands are clean, then noblesse oblige That you wipe those "who me?" looks off of your faces and concede
Our designs are separated by Nothing more than place and time Different scenes, same crimes Pray, let him without sin cast the first statues of
Former rogues turned folk heroes That your grandfathers hung Don't lecture me about plundered soil While you loaf upon your father's spoils
We want nothing more than what you already have A comforting of exculpatory facts The myth of an empty land and a conquest so complete We can pull these tanks from our streets and
Hand the loose ends over to bureaucrats and become just like you Lounging carefree in cafes, absolved from sin And human grenades, entre nous How did your desert bloom?Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
