Idolisce
Art is dead.
Corporate Christmas. Merry capitalism.
The word of the wolf is our gospel
Misleading the flock towards exodus
A charming smile on a mouth full of teeth
Picking every last bone clean
Idolisce
Art is dead
Uniformity and the beat the heat of war
Culture of violence breeds fighters
Not writers
Great minds forbidden to create
A masochistic parade
Idolisce
Art is dead
Shout loud until your heard
And then speak louder
Tear down the walls between us and them
The bastards need to hear us
Taste the fire of our words
And the pain we don't deserve but we feel anyway
One people one voice one song
Sing along
With raised fists and open palms
Burn the pages of capitalist psalms
Sing along Until the pigs are gone