Paroles de The City

It's infected, this city's a wasteland. Slow drone reality. Figure heads and scapegoats, holding back the punch line, to exaggerate just right. We're collecting IOU's and absent apologies. The unspoken sense of betrayal lingers. Can we get it right? When everything we know is so wrong. Everything is expendable here, Mannequins and advert placements. We leave no mark. No lasting impressions, (for a next of kin). We decay We cower We remain silent victims We argue We justify our own demise Inner test market, we suck up the fumes. Meat, bones and bright ideas. It's all insane.