Kezia
Album - 30 agosto 2005 - Debaser id 256771

This morning there are no rods or staffs
To comfort you dressed as a target
As you amble in your chains and stumble through
The corridors that lead to our makeshift valley of death

In the prison's backyard
where you'll give us your final breath
Last night I saw you dine with lovers and human tears
But glanced at me in ways
that brought to life my sleeping fears

That today you'll bite my neck
Today you'll bite my neck
That today you'll bite my neck
Today you'll bite my neck

Today you'll bite my neck
Today you'll bite my neck
That today you'll bite my neck
Today you'll bite my neck... [continues in the background]

and peel away the aging skin
Expose this lifeless body and the void
Divinity within (I watch my temple fall to pieces)
Divinity within (I watch my temple fall to pieces)

So tell me when I've read you your rights
When the guns are in their place
When your crime no longer seems absurd

When your crime's no longer absurd
What will you say
when we ask you what are your final words?

When your crime's no longer absurd
What will you, what will you say, Kezia,
when we ask what are your final words?
what are your final words?

The day that civil glory dismembered my civility
I could have parted ribs and flesh like a different kind of Red Sea
Drowned the ancient east in western progress
Custom and the least of all our pride and sentiments
Which turned out to be the closest thing to a fashion trend
That's ever been put on trial
Which turned out to be the closest thing to a fashion trend
That's ever been put on trial
The rest was cast off as denial of statehood and mastery;
The ultimate form of treason is the treacherous use of reason
Employed by the bastard sons of American fore-fathers who keep this fire burning
With the flesh of their would-be American daughters, daughters, daughters, daughters!!

What will happen to our children when the least of us pass on?
Us who fought the monsters of our country's crowded closet
Us who dropped the bombs on goodness when we saw it wasn't flawless
Us whose youthful life was hostage to what harm did
Us who fought the hardest to be swept under the carpet

And I'm still a cigarette softly smoking on the edge of a metal ashtray
I begged this place to let me burn, and it whispered, "burn away"

We woke up as men but tonight we'll sleep as killers
As we break the cryptic morning with a bullet and a prayer
The steel never seemed more cold and agile than now
And life never seems less vital and fragile
With a heart that's beating louder than my own
I watch a girl they call Kezia
I watch a woman that I know
My hopes and my own future blindfolded
To atone for a sin I didn't care for, but a sin that paid my debts
A sin that fed my children and burned my smiles and cigarettes
And no one ever said that hope would be so beautiful
And no one ever said I'd have to pull the trigger on her
I can't even still her trembling hands
that were locked up by the dutiful and the obligated;
Five soldiers forever sedated with the, "No one's responsible"
psychological drama of our social justice dribble, dribble, dribble
Her tiny steps tell lies about the choice I have to make;
(Resurrect a static lifetime starve to death my own mistakes)
Pull the screaming trigger and watch your carcass bleed me dry
Or drop the gun and try to shake away the blindfold from your eyes?
Drop the gun, drop the gun, drop the gun, drop the gun.
Sin I didn't care for, but a sin that paid my debts
A sin that fed my children and burned my smiles and cigarettes
Sin I didn't care for, but a sin that paid my debts
A sin that fed my children and burned my smiles and cigarettes

Place your justice in my palm and then I'll make fist
Punch your grimaced face until every knuckle breaks
And bleeds in resistance to my sidewalk painting
A mangled body twitching and regaining consciousness and closure
Attempting composure before a bullet in the mouth answers the questions of exposure
And God of Sunday School façades and paycheques to validate the time I served abroad
It all means nothing if I forget why I'm here
To serve and protect my fist over fist mind under matter career
That's why a man sounds kind of funny when he falls to his knees
With his hand on his throat while he begs you to please spare his life
While I explain the hardest of bodies dulls the softest of knives
Then I hold up his head and carve X's in his eyes
I swear I have compassion I've just been trained to disregard the prisoner's life
Because I am the prison guard

They called me the man with the blood of Christ honesty
But tonight I drink with heathens and our, our finest blasphemies
In wine there's truth but in silence there's surrender
A screaming for the silence in stunned suspicious terror
Built a temple in my life and used God to seal the pillars
After twenty years of fighting young heretics and killers
I watch my temple fall to pieces at the first signs of oncoming weather
Fell to my knees like Jesus in the cave, knew I would die
But my lips could only say "I'm not your son, so why have you forsaken me?"
There's a hole in my heart but it just makes me unholy
Crucified that night and walked away with alter-egos
Like the prison priest who preached his dead and buried gospel
With my faith in ruins my duty still breathes strong
I'm a parrot in a cage saying prayers to belong to a textbook
Of my crying, lying, dying history; a time so full of life that I was anything but me

Don't ever ask us to define our morals
Sometimes when fundamentals meet teenage heartbreak
Some of us are all of us; half-selves that love whole hopes
And hara-kiri heartbreak

There's almost nothing worse than never being real
Strained voices crying wolf when nobody can hear
If I had a gun I'd pump your ethics full of lead
If I believed in meat I'd eat a plateful of our dead

There's merit in construction when it's done with your own hands
There's beauty in destruction, resurrection, another chance
There's a you and I in union but just an I in my beliefs
There's a crashing plane with a banner that reads everyone's naïve

The only proof that I have that we shot and killed this horse
Is the sounds of whips on flesh and a bleeding heart remorse
When I'm In this state of reflection and you hand me whips
And two by fours I could never bring them down and beat the same horse as before

I'd rather kill a stupid flower and spread its seeds around
Until a garden with our bullet-laden morals will be found