lirik lagu charlie yama - politicism
[verse 1]
politicism got a rope round everybody’s neck
better pray the way they make it
don’t break your neck
last ones to hang ain’t been so fortunate
time to formulate a new brand of victimhood
now everybody got to be a robin hood
knock your bowed head down
clock your arrowhead south
to the positives and negatives
of narrative incentives
people tearing sideways
left and right
the current attraction
a perception of seduction
fly a moth to the fire
higher and highеr
let your tired wings burn smoke spirеs
desire to push pills
to instill a greater foe
til you see that you let yourself
decapitate your soul
[chorus]
don’t you know
don’t you know
don’t they tell you down home
it’s not the trenches, the broken wrenches
consequences we made on our own
don’t keep this globe rolling on
all the way down in our bones
we own a hopeful soul
that there’s something at the end of it all
[verse 2]
politicism got a rope round everybody’s neck
martyrs begging quarters
and bartering their mourners
sell off the first stack
of manacles gold and black
it’s the man with his hands round everybody’s neck
newspaper clippings
a picture at the races
and he’s feeding us outrageous
poison buried in our faces
reaching homeostasis
and we looking for that next fix
dopamine and racists
now we’re self regulating
learn to feed this poison
to our very own kids
“please listen,”
he insists with intention in his fists
we were never meant to be this
way too much information
leads the way to much derangement
emotive betrayal
the asylum trial of st. albert
[chorus]
don’t you know
don’t you know
don’t they tell you down home
it’s not the trenches, the broken wrenches
consequences we made on our own
don’t keep this globe rolling on
all the way down in our bones
we own a hopeful soul
that there’s something at the end of it all
[verse 3]
politicism got a rope round everybody’s neck
the law and her doorman
keep a lock on the poor man
invisibly chained to a voluntary place
disgraced, his wrists cuffed, keys interlaced
between his fingers and his wretched face
judgment sketched and framed upon the pavement
encas~m~nt of displacement
bas~m~nt of a withered man and his false enslavement
thrice spent his echo and shadow
paid off the loan on his soul and bone marrow
twice bent his bridges and stitches
bury ‘em all with his matchstick riches
who’s gonna know and who’s gonna ask
what task we’re left with
when we’re all on our own
[chorus]
don’t you know
don’t you know
don’t they tell you down home
it’s not the trenches, the broken wrenches
consequences we made on our own
don’t keep this globe rolling on
all the way down in our bones
we own a hopeful soul
that there’s something at the end of it all
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