Three years drip down the drainnand we're drowning in it allnWe bought the ticketnand our legs are nothingnbut a bloody tangled messnBecause we've been running non-stopnin hopes to find what we're looking fornnWe can not keep hiding in songs and ignoring soundnThis can is traditionnand the not is freedomnYeah, rightnnDead presidents represent usnNot fools and loversnnSo what will it benThe king or the captain?nSo what will it benThe fist or the mouth?