Red and yellow through this dirty window pane
Disturbing your sediments of classic form and thought
Wrapped in purposeless veneers of worthless words
And countless years of thievery and hopes of blacker days
But we don't like this not quite one bit
No we don't, no sir
We just won't speak more softly
Safely wanting what we're told to save and hope for
Sleep, sweet sleep
Please define our lives for us
So we can can sleep
So we can trust that they are righteous
Because after all we are the promised land
We own the promised land