The silent the severed the path of raven the words are dead One thousand ladies in ribbon all adorned, underneath the sun underneath the earth underneath an awful banner And golden trumpets. they're braying like clockwork mules in a time of plague, in a time of war The poisoned landscape defiled by the factory pipe, the sickened land the sickened sky. Cold eyes are spying from the top of the pyramid: the government thug, the government snitch. But I want something much more different not these factories of prisons I wish that the earth was green again I wish I had a gun in my hand Someday I will come back in from the cold
