A Fragile Peace by The Famine Lyrics
A grinding narrative set on a razor's edge, the culmination of a lifetime
It stutters to a stop, then crumbles into ruins, bones held up by wire
You don't put the gun in your mouth because you like the way that it tastes
It's a testament to the will of man and the progress we have made
A debt we all must pay, bit by bit by agonizing pieces of ourselves
To warlords and profiteers all huddled in dark masses, xenophobes and killers
Bone soaked in blurry tears, the matted grey of ashes, a liturgy on our failings
Choke down a Eucharist of flesh and tinny blood to find a fragile, fleeting peace
You don't put the gun in your mouth because you like the way that it tastes
It's a testament to the will of man and the progress we have made
In a sense we've done our best to lay it all to waste
So cavalier and so secure, dressed in our Sunday finest
A debt we all must pay, bit by bit by agonizing pieces of ourselves
To warlords and profiteers all huddled in dark masses, xenophobes and killers
Commercialized regret manufactured in the falsest pretense of sorrow
"Those wretched fools," you'll think, "All huddled in dark masses, ripe for the taking."
Sycophants and slaves
Crawl back from whence you came, tormentors. Lie in the bed that you have made
Suffer the fools in silence
Let your actions speak for themselves, because actions speak for themselves
A grinding narrative set on a razor's edge, the culmination of a lifetime
It stutters to a stop, then crumbles into ruins, bones held up by wire
You don't put the gun in your mouth because you like the way that it tastes
It's a testament to the will of man and the progress we have made
A debt we all must pay, bit by bit by agonizing pieces of ourselves
To warlords and profiteers all huddled in dark masses, xenophobes and killers
Bone soaked in blurry tears, the matted grey of ashes, a liturgy on our failings
Choke down a Eucharist of flesh and tinny blood to find a fragile, fleeting peace
You don't put the gun in your mouth because you like the way that it tastes
It's a testament to the will of man and the progress we have made
In a sense we've done our best to lay it all to waste
So cavalier and so secure, dressed in our Sunday finest
A debt we all must pay, bit by bit by agonizing pieces of ourselves
To warlords and profiteers all huddled in dark masses, xenophobes and killers
Commercialized regret manufactured in the falsest pretense of sorrow
"Those wretched fools," you'll think, "All huddled in dark masses, ripe for the taking."
Sycophants and slaves
Crawl back from whence you came, tormentors. Lie in the bed that you have made
Suffer the fools in silence
Let your actions speak for themselves, because actions speak for themselves
A grinding narrative set on a razor's edge, the culmination of a lifetime