| D | A | |
| let's | gather 'round the carcass of the | old deflated beast, |
| C | G | |
| we have | seen it through the accolades and | rested in its lea, |
| D | A | |
| syn | tactic is our elegance, in | cisive our disease, |
| C | G | D | |
| the | swath endogenous of ourselves will | be our quandary, |
| D | A | |
| we've | nestled in its hollow and we've | suckled at its breast, |
| C | G | |
| gran | diloquent our attitude, im | passioned yet inept, |
| D | A | |
| frivolous gavel our design, | ludicrous our threat, |
| C | G | D | |
| ex | cursive expeditions leave us | holding less and less, |
| A | |
| so what does it | mean? |
| F | C | |
| when we | tell ourselves it's only for a | while we have been deceived |
| A# | F | |
| and it's | only for a moment that the | treasures of our day make |
| C | A# | |
| life | easier to complicate, the | treasure thrown away, |
| G | G# | F | G | G# | F | |
| I'm | so | tired of all the | fucked | up | minds |
| G | G# | F | G | G# | F | |
| of all the | terro | rist re | ligions and their | bull | shit | lines, |
| G | G# | F | G | G# | F | |
| of all the | hand- | me- | downs from all in | dust | rial | crimes |
| G | G# | F | G | G# | F | |
| and the | wee | ping | mothers and those who are | led | so | blind, |
| G | G# | F | G | G# | F | |
| from the | plas | tic | protests and the | hands | of | time |
| G | G# | F | G | G# | F | |
| and the | pur | suit | of mirth and all | ha | ting | kind |