You think of me as a walking libido,
as a person who only wishes to be touched...
A person without a heart.

How could you think that?

The audacity sickens me.

Do you not understand that I have a heart?
That I have the ability
to feel
to cherish
to love?

No, it isn't always on my sleeve...
I know that --
It's constantly shielded by my mind and the logic I so desperately cling to.

But you know me, don't you?

You should.

**By no means am I "heartless".

Angelic demons
Loaded with hives
Of violence and blood
A rash of tribes
Infected
Dissected
Inflected with sin
Built to lose
Broken to win
God is with us
In the end
To the darkness
We descend
This job is not ours
We did it for hours
Brick by brick
We built a wall
And then the third took a fall

We were on the rack
Never going back
On the rack
Never going back
Exit hell
Don't pass go
Paid in blood
Real slow

We saw red
Thousands dead
Needed a sacrifice
Something to gain
So they wouldn't be in pain
We fought in vain
Nothing but vanity
Murderous sanity
Forgive me father
For diminishing this sanctity
That you helped create
They pricked our lips
I poisoned the state
This fear means they won
Every victory
They gain unamerican sone

They are on the rack
We are back
On the rack
We are back
Back to hell
Where the blood swells
With good intentions
And no dissension

Security not guaranteed
If we are freed
We have no hope no will
Just buckets of pain and swill
Don't fight for the right
Fight for the pain
Fight for the fallen and the slain
Send them in pieces to their maker
Until you to are a husk
A baker
Of suffering and pain
Of bodies lain
Down in the name of hate
Our appetites will not sate
We will not satisfy
Until that desert is spread
Over the whole globe
We will only testify
Of the strobe
Of ashes and ashes
Dust to dust
These beliefs we once held
Sharpened with rust

Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down

There is no such thing as true silence
At least not on this earth
For the earth itself has sound
It hums
Constantly
But it is often covered

By the sounds of people and of grass or pavement under feet
Of water or cars rushing by
Of the wind whispering through leaves of trees

But in the lonely places of the world
Where for miles and miles there is nothing but dirt
and nothing -or almost nothing-grows
Where, if you stand on a hill and listen closely
You can hear the muffled voices of those a mile away

In those places you can hear the earth
Deep and low and full
A sound silenced by the culmination of other sounds
Which are themselves mistaken for silence
A sound that when heard, though quiet enough to be drowned out by whispering  trees, fills the void with sound
The sound of Earth singing