Thanks for nothing, inequality and oppression.
It must be vanity that compels you to ask me that and think any good could come at all from an honest answer
Enemy of Promise, I'll catch the melody you cast on the breeze
Enemy, I'll take the only dream you had by its tender throat and squeeze
Enemy of promise, I'll frame the photograph of you on your knees
Enemy, enemy, promise me
Maybe I could be the sort of person who does five impossible things before noon
Maybe I could make it my vocation to sit and read book in my room
Where is there a medicine to take away this panic, from living in this city, in this country, on this planet?
all rights reserved