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Primus - precipitation.gp3
I used to play in waste-high snow, right around the corner from here.
And now we stroll through cold, but it don't snow here no more.
The seasons change and I can see it happening before my eyes.
Continental conditioning exchanging room for lies.
The compromise and what caused when I see these global changes,
Potential years of my life, something's wrong when I can see it plain as day.
Faint as the may winds when my mind exemplifies
Trials and tribulations of manipulation and lies.
My son will never see the snow, except in 3-d simulators,
And open-space science replication escalators.
And I will tell my child about the fun we used to have,
And we'll not forget your sorry ass when he says, "can I go outside and play, dad?"
This world that you created, I will take no fucking part in.
When you ask for my apology, I'll reply with, "I beg your pardon."
Global economizing, and the raping of the third world.
Exploiting mother nature and colonizing of a little girl.
It's western uncivilization, weighted scales claim people.
No wonder we got identity problems when you act like cave people.
I was born to march forth, and conquer the harsh north,
But I reside inside these fort walls from henceforth, regardless.
You can buy the foot of a goddess for your aesthetic pleasure,
I'll hold the memory inside my heart eternally as treasure.
And when your son wonders why he can't play in the toxic rain,
My son will look into my brain and get the explanation.
I see the hesitation in every guilty move you make,
I alleviate my conscience through the conscious mode of trade.
It's fundamental differences, you see, we have the witnesses.
Marking in your hit lists, you lie, we know the truth.
The primary campaign of that busting the supremist,
Is here upon us, in action, thought, and premise.
The counter-culture catalog for christian conservative clones,
Constricts countless conscious clever-minded types into depression.
That's the agenda, through conditioning by disaster,
Allows the cutting of rainforests. harder, faster, harder, faster.
We can't get in, corporate password protected by the rich,
To take away from the people they educated.
The story's written by the winner, that's the goddamn truth.
The underrated's a champion, a cheater without any proof.
But I'll remain the outcast that looks like the typecast,
Aspiring middle-class that outlasts the rumor-mill.
And I'll swallow each jagged pill with the pleasure for discomfort,
And create the situations that arise from faces sunburnt
But working long hours in pride-stricken constrictions.
The face that fights for what it believes in, despite
The friction. and this is the same face that will look you in the eyes,
And then look upon my son and tell him how you lied with pride.
And now we stroll through cold, but it don't snow here no more.
The seasons change and I can see it happening before my eyes.
Continental conditioning exchanging room for lies.
The compromise and what caused when I see these global changes,
Potential years of my life, something's wrong when I can see it plain as day.
Faint as the may winds when my mind exemplifies
Trials and tribulations of manipulation and lies.
My son will never see the snow, except in 3-d simulators,
And open-space science replication escalators.
And I will tell my child about the fun we used to have,
And we'll not forget your sorry ass when he says, "can I go outside and play, dad?"
This world that you created, I will take no fucking part in.
When you ask for my apology, I'll reply with, "I beg your pardon."
Global economizing, and the raping of the third world.
Exploiting mother nature and colonizing of a little girl.
It's western uncivilization, weighted scales claim people.
No wonder we got identity problems when you act like cave people.
I was born to march forth, and conquer the harsh north,
But I reside inside these fort walls from henceforth, regardless.
You can buy the foot of a goddess for your aesthetic pleasure,
I'll hold the memory inside my heart eternally as treasure.
And when your son wonders why he can't play in the toxic rain,
My son will look into my brain and get the explanation.
I see the hesitation in every guilty move you make,
I alleviate my conscience through the conscious mode of trade.
It's fundamental differences, you see, we have the witnesses.
Marking in your hit lists, you lie, we know the truth.
The primary campaign of that busting the supremist,
Is here upon us, in action, thought, and premise.
The counter-culture catalog for christian conservative clones,
Constricts countless conscious clever-minded types into depression.
That's the agenda, through conditioning by disaster,
Allows the cutting of rainforests. harder, faster, harder, faster.
We can't get in, corporate password protected by the rich,
To take away from the people they educated.
The story's written by the winner, that's the goddamn truth.
The underrated's a champion, a cheater without any proof.
But I'll remain the outcast that looks like the typecast,
Aspiring middle-class that outlasts the rumor-mill.
And I'll swallow each jagged pill with the pleasure for discomfort,
And create the situations that arise from faces sunburnt
But working long hours in pride-stricken constrictions.
The face that fights for what it believes in, despite
The friction. and this is the same face that will look you in the eyes,
And then look upon my son and tell him how you lied with pride.