Tekst:
The Suicide File

In the end what's left Won't be your feathered hair or your fake breasts or your fast food or your slow death. All the rallies and all the marches, All

I finally saw you For the first time In two fucking years And i told you i was fine. You told me you had made it through the roughest patch And you tried

If what it boils down to is that "you're either for us or against us," I guess I've got a tough, tough choice to make. 'Cause hollow patriotic actions

Hate comes in whispers, not angry yells. Creeping through your nightmares, leaving putrid smells. And there's a million stories of sordid private lives

Idealism is fucking dead. Laughed off the stage at countless conventions. Laissez faire is en vogue again. It's silver tongue has been heaven sent.

Try to wash it all away You can't remove the stains You had your chance, you made your mark, now it's too late You had your chance, you made your mark

The cul-de-sac jungle is a cruel place It's a living rotting failure from a different age And if you're looking for the place that dreams go to die It

There's a burning cross on a hillside. Still bright after all these years. And you want to just smile and ignore it, but I hear your fucking fear.

Tonight I saw two eyes staring down at me in this valley of ashes and I realized what a grotesque thing a rose is I've been grasping at a light that seems