Songtext von American Math

Gambling man Pull the arm and spin Prepare the lunchbox, pull the boots up, pray for sevens The numbers, voice echoes with confidence The equation replaces common sense The victory parade Fronted by the marching dead Downsized, trivialised Ripped to pieces, built again These deeds turn good people into grenades Balancing on strings Stability more fragile than a butterfly wing These are the mathematics of trickery Of bribery, of thievery, of slavery Rebuttal to the crowd Was much like botched surgery Propped up, made to stand Then buckled at the knees The pigs have gathered and they're screaming bids Laid out on the auction block Tired horses, hollow promises Yes men fall with severed heads in hands Deafening, the numbers' genius Had somehow failed them again