lirik lagu arms aloft - west grand ave. maria
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blessed, we’re told, are the fruits of our labors. bootstraps, our saviors and so hail the hours we’ve sold. and these rooms that we rent, in hopes that they can defend us from the cold of the world we’ve been compelled to buid. …that they stop at nothing to keep us from. to keep us broke, keep us dumb and scared
and on what grounds? but the fetishized words of slave-owners and spent rounds
so embrace decay, hail the growth unsustainable. find values unexchangeable and take another inch back each day
here’s to hoping this place will be ours on our dying day
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