lirik lagu chonny jash - poor artists
imprisoned in the cafe, or busking in the alleyway
(the machine needs oil, but blood will do just fine.)
eyes too tired to keep awake, fingers cut too fierce to pray
(i’ll make sure they take yours so that they might not take mine.)
rinse, repeat and bow down, until hope washes clean off skin
(it’s nothing personal – but then, that’s such a shame.)
play the role you’re given and roll the dice they weighted again
(we’re all npcs in some businessman’s game.)
we fight. we try
we strive to reach greater heights
we yearn to be actualised
and instead, we roll on and on and on and on, till the sun dies
until we finally find someone, somewhere, somehow seeing our eyes’ lost light
and we hear them say:
“say cheese. wash feet
and when they kick, grit your t~~th
besides, you look so good in red
and the audience loves you half dead
they’re the prey. you’re the bait
so, lie down and wait
seduce the working class and pull their gaze away
the wolves have outsourced the chase
and you’ll do well to remember your ~
stop crying, there’s a time and a ~
h~ll is more kind of a place.”
look beyond the hand that feeds; magic tricks are quick to deceive
(the machine’s all f~cked. there’s this bright sludge in the ducts.)
they show that which you think you need – what else don’t they want you to see?
(the cogs are turning slow. the cattle’s causing a fuss.)
riot! rage! dye brushes red. paint bullet holes across their chests
(they’ve all been diseased with this thing we don’t know.)
restore that which you thought had left. bring to life the inspired dead
(their souls have been retrieved. they say they’re calling it ‘hope.’)
it’s true. it’s known
they loathe to see humans being
the artist can not be free ~
so what does that make me?
they commoditised ecstasy
and contentedness costs extra fees
and soon, they’ll come after me
but i will not give up my next beat
i’ll writhe. i’ll scream
and when i’m done, i’ll bare my t~~th
your rules will not keep me down
for to truly smile, you must first master the frown
i’ll write. i’ll sing
it’s a fickle thing, but i’ll draw my own d~mn lines and sit humbly between
i’d rather be skint and free, than well off with a gun at my cheek
Lirik lagu lainnya:
- lirik lagu the phantom tollbooth - iceland continuations
- lirik lagu ian freud - the burn
- lirik lagu ghizela rowe - rudyard kipling - to the city of bombay
- lirik lagu aoen - circle ring
- lirik lagu groza (tur) - aynen
- lirik lagu augxst - vouge
- lirik lagu 55asky - krush
- lirik lagu uzzy, qvxno, guima, vieitos & each1 - pelo norte #1
- lirik lagu kunnu - pullin' up
- lirik lagu jonkay & babyleo - gifted&guided