A mass of hands press on the market window Ghosts of progress Feeding on hunger And glaring through the promise Upon the food that rots slowly in the aisle A mass of nameless at the oasis That hides the graves beneath the master's hill Are buried for drinking The river's water While shackled to the line At the empty wall
This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound Over the new ground
Listen to the fascist sing Take hope here War is elsewhere You were chosen This is god's land Soon we'll be free Of blot and mixture Seeds planted by our Forefather's hand
A mass of promise Begin to rupture Like the pockets Of the new world kings Like swollen stomachs In applachia It's the priests that fuck you As they whisper holy things A mass of tears have transformed to stones now Sharpened on suffering And women into slings Hope lies in the rubble of this rich fortress Taking today what tomorrow never brings
This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound Over the new ground
Ain't it funny how the factory doors close Round the time that the school doors close Round the time that the doors of the jail cells Open up to greet you like the reaper
Ain't it funny how the factory doors close Round the time that the school doors close Round the time that the doors of the jail cells Open up to greet you like the reaper
This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound Over the new ground
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