Laugh in the face of death under mastheadnHold your breath through late breaking disastersnNext to news of the tritenAnd the codesnAnd the feelings that meant to be noblenLike coke in the nose of the noblesnKeeps it alightnnAnd the wrathnAnd the riotsnAnd the races on firenAnd the music for tanks with no red lights in sightnnGot younnCryin'nCryin'nOh whyin'nOh my my mynnGold is another word for culturenLeads to fatteningnOf the vulturesnTill this bird can barely flynnAnd Mary and David smoke dung in the trenchesnWhile Zion's behavior never gets mentionednThe writingsnOn your wallnnAnd the blood on the cradlenAnd the ashes you wade throughnGot you callin' God's name in vainnLeaved the damned to damn it all!nn's got younnCryin'nCryin'nOh whyin'nOh my my mynnBroken rose, colored glassesnCan't see for the thornsnAnd you just can't stand no more!nWhat a clumsy kind of lownTime to take the wheel and the roadnFrom the mastersnTake this car, drive it straight into the wallnBuild it back up from the floornnAnd stop ournnCryin'nCryin'nOh whyin'nOh my my mynnOur cryin'nOur cryin'nOur cryin'nnStill you try, try, try