The embodiment of innocence stripped from her own territory
America's child has passed so close to freedom
Now closest with her maker
The ten lifetimes of terror were experienced by this frail body
Where have our children gone?
They are not to be found amongst this tabloid filth over kill
An embarrassing lack of responsibility
A vicious cycle of soap opera drama pettiness
No known beginning and no end in sight
This must be our darkest hour
When gossip takes priority over our young
Are we this shallow?
Are we this apathetic?
Are we this bored?
Prove me wrong
The child is mine, now that she has been thrown away
The interest is gone, so now the others suffer
They suffer unto a grotesque attention, span deficit monster
They turned our play yards into graveyards
So we cried every night for a week
Squeezing as much concern allowed between each sports update
You cried every night for a week, yet I still mourn
Have you forgotten their faces?
Patience is a virtue, I won't instate
I must see the faces of every abductee
I must taste the pain
Remind me of our system atrocities
Don't let me forget, don't let me forget
Why haven't we drawn a line?
Instead, we feed and shelter them
We support the evil and pay their debts
We've paid their debts
Why can't we win?
Simulcast
Coalesce
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Lyrics by Coalesce
73-C A Disgust for Details A New Language A Safe Place Black Dog Blend As Well Blue Collar Lullaby Burn Everything That Bears Our Name By What We Refuse Chain Smoking Counting Murders, Drinking Beer (The $46,000 Escap... Cut to Length Dead Is Dead Designed To Break A Man Every Reason To Grain of Salt Have Patience Heartbreaker Immigrant Song In My Wake, For My Own Jesus In the Year 2000 / Next On the Shit List My Love For Extremes On Being a Bastard One on the Ground Out on the Tiles Questions To Root Out Fools Still It Sells Thank You That's The way The Blind Eye The Comedian In Question The Plot Against My Love The Purveyor Of Novelty And Nonsense The Villain We Won't Deny There Is A Word Hidden In The Ground They Always Come Home in Fall [Instrumental] This Is the Last Through Sparrows I Rest To My Ruin What Happens on the Road Always Comes Home Where the Hell Is Rick Thorne These Days? While the Jackass Operation Spins Its Wheels Whole Lotta Love Wild Ox Moan You Can't Kill Us All
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