> THE LYRICS / SONGS TO FAN THE FLAMES... 

Rather be dead 

I'd rather be dead than alive by your oppression. I'd rather be dead than alive by your design. Poisoned my fingers. Burned out my eyes. Cut my throat to be alive. I'd rather be dead than alive by your social values. I'd rather be dead than alive by your tradition. But I'd rather be alive...

Coup d'etat 

Staying up all night planning the downfall of your corrupted system. What plot will I figure out and what thoughts will I pen down? I will have my coup d'etat. I will start a riot. I will hold your burning flag in my hand. Sitting up all night planning my revolution with a catchy phrase. A shitty band with an awesome plan. A punk crusade throughout the land. Sick of silence, of passive masses. Educate, resist and take control. To live a life in fear of changing is to not live at all. I will have my coup d'etat. I will start a riot. I will hold your burning flag in my hand. And I will watch your empire fall. I will not die for you. I will not kill for you. I will not fight for you. I will hold your burning flag in my hand as I watch your empire fall, cause I know it will... I will have my coup d'etat.

Hook, line and sinker 

The bait. The prey. The mice. Debate the method of demise. Debate your high. I'll lie beside you, walk you down and lay the beat beneath your bed. Beneath the dead. Debate the method in your head. The chemical misanthropy saving you from blame. I'll stand below you, lift you up, increase the pain. I want to see you, hear your voice regret the choice. Rejoice in watching you collapse, destroy the map and fall headlong into the gap. Swallow poison, swallow the bait. Swallow every word said to free you from blame. I'll stand below you , lift you up, increase the pain. The hunter dying in his trap. Swallow poison, swallow the bait. Hook, line and sinker.

Return to the closet 

The game is over. The damage is done. Fuck you for playing along. Break through the surface only to suffocate. Beating it into me. Burn witches as found. But not this time. Our culture acquires love design. Left naked with nothing but ourselves and contempt for what we're not supposed to be, not supposed to feel, not supposed to see. I will embrace you, we're all beautiful. We all return - confrontation cuts. In the closet - Can't get up Another definition to keep control. With assorted names we know where to belong.

Life support addiction

Somewhere along the line we lost. Indivality paid the cost. Close enough to inhale the security but as always too far away. We breed upon culture sickness and we made this rule into our own. Silently sedated, our minds fly out the windows. Our emotions suffocate. Suppress the essence of living... Your beautiful independent Fridaynight dress. Wash away the fear and insecurity. This substitute kills the freedom and cuts the wounds wide open. A glimpse caught the sense and now you're content in slowly fading. The familiar escape. The alternative to nothing. Reminded to die-life support addiction. Watch your love slip through your hands.

It's not o.k... 

It's not o.k to pretend that everythings alright. 

Crusader of hopelessness 

Stretch out in your christ pose, marionette of lost hope. Your sadness at the expense of the world. Your dying to be this. Your living to be this. Energy wasted on feeling sorry for ourselves. We didn't deserve it. We didn't deserve it. Like using a thousand apologies as a thousand excuses for making the same mistakes. Crusader of hopelessness. Crucified by yourself. What do you know about suffering? So full of reasons not to see the possibilities to change. This suffocation and turn it into focus. 'Cause we don't need this, cause we don't need this. Forget about your self-pity, forget about your petty problems, forget about your small world.

Worthless is the freedom bought...

From here to the cemetary, from here to the grave. How many did your democracy save? Clean slate, state oppression and yeah, once again, like a thousand times before a thousand victims more. Take aim at the have-nots as always. And once again freedom is being bought at the expense of truth. Your beautiful world is dead. - It will die a thousand times. - I will watch it expire. - It's time to kill this lie. - It died a thousand times. Bloodred, pitch black and yeah, we're tired of being expendable in their community. And while you swallow every image they present we'll sing the songs to fan the flames of discontent.

This trust will kill again 

You knew what I was going to say. And when I didn't I did anyway, it seems. And I'll survive with selfrespect intact. And you?? Every freedom needs a trust. And this trust will kill again for you. And someone else wont believe their eyes. While a thousand will believe that it's true. This trust will kill again for you. Through tales of objectivity you shake my hands. All that objectivity could break them both. Cause whatever I say, context aside, you got what you need to make sure I say what they want to read. It won't happen again. And I'll survive with selfrespect intact. They're telling me I should have known better. Well now I know. All that objectivity. Nothing.

Beauty 

The need to dream makes it easy to provide a package to fulfill life. Your prefabricated beauty. Your tan, blank skin, Your slim white torsos. Your plastic smiles. Just the perfect fantasy, cling on to the illusions of industry dream. Your body, your beauty will fade. Fit the pieces, adjust the smiles. You will try to fit in for the perfect li(f)e. Sell me a pre-packaged body conception. Sell me a dream of love everlasting. Sell me the perfection of satisfaction. Give me beauty or give me death. Give me a body forever young. Give me fulfillment of fitness. Give me the Answers to my search. Give me beauty or give me death. Sell me a pre-packaged body conception. Sell me a dream of love everlasting. Sell me the perfection of satisfaction. Grant me the wish of my branded erection.

Last minute pointer 

Is there a single thing that would make you comprehend that as long as we shut up we still sanction them? My silence will convict me. As the parade continues on every bloodstained flag we sum up statistics still buried in the sand. With our silence we vote for continuation.

The slayer 

Turn off, hail to the deafening. End life for ego reasoning. Consumer of selfishness, feel it bleed. Death traditions feeds the suffering. Acquire by-products, breed the industry. Modern death camps, feel their suffering. Soul destroyer, never question consequence. Pain won't end so we gag our sense. Kill the conscience, lies over lives. Kill the conscience, lies over lives. Their pain won't end. With blood in my eyes I won't see the light shine...
 

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