Coom Ground کے بول

These are not dispassionate words of the cool The headline still rules the editor's a fool Shall we douse out the flames or will everybody fuse And leave us standing here tomorrow I heard a calling out, a cry from the heart From the towns of cement and no beauty A whisper it turned howl, man he didn't know He was standing waiting for you tomorrow. Nothing's left nothing's found there must be some common ground I could never figure the calendar's flow Nor can I work out how the wild wind blows But I'm ready from within and we're starting to go Away from the place of no tomorrow Oh the wrecking fields are a terrible place, With a sulphurous smell and a frightening pace And the hooks go in early and the critic is king And it's hard to stay human and stand in the ring There's no time to be absent, a clown or a fool While shylock is smiling we're loaded like mules If we surrender ourselves to industrial rules We'll wake up in the wreckage of tomorrow.