LYRIC FOR SALE

By Pandoras Dog

Your feelings are NOT more important than the truth!

Your truth is just high calorie fiction, more food for your fake news addiction
No chance of conviction in this jurisdiction when justice lies in dereliction
Our heroes are celluloid jokes while we're pinning our hopes on folks wearing cloaks

And the school system's up on the ropes

Ignoring the obvious does not sit well with us
When we agree with what they do, Big Media and You Know Who
It makes all that we stand for a hoax.

“Too many guns!”
“Too many guns!”
(Where are the Dads, where are the Moms?)
“Ban the guns!”
“Ban the guns!”
(Where are the Dads, where are the Moms?)

You blame the guns when the kids got no Moms
Why not blame the Moms when the kids have got guns?
It’s parental authority by a moral minority forcing agendas of a global authority
Harvest-lice and field mice consuming the last grains of paradise
Tiktok is for clocks not life advice, Wakey wakey Matey, you’re not woke you’re a JOKE!
A mistaken mistake, a social earthquake, only death and destruction left in your wake

Come daybreak you quake, as you realise to late, your social sacrifice has taken a real life
The face in the mirror shouts back in anger,
and you clamber…

trying to find…

your reasons for treasons whose malfeasance brings grievance
a seamless regress and your fingers caress…

the back button…

Page reset.

Your feelings are NOT more important than the truth!

“Too many guns!”
“Too many guns!”
(Where are the Dads, where are the Moms?)
“Ban the guns!”
“Ban the guns!”
(Where are the Dads, where are the Moms?)

All our prisons are fitted with revolving doors, a free education for carnivores
Kids learn more behind those walls than anyone learns from their professors
An early release by public opinion and integration remains an illusive dominion
With too little learnt and too much discovered while wishing his boyfriend believed in rubbers
Behind revolving doors and struck to the floor with no sign of the reform that he's hoping for

I don’t blame the kid, paying for what he did

Doing his time, while in the meantime his baby bro winds up finding his nine
Gunshots crack out, another light goes out, another kid takes the orphan’s path
A young father falls, his back to the wall, as the chamber refills and life’s ink spills,
Onto a tarmac canvas painted with last wishes and wills.


Back on the street with the wrong lessons learnt, no remorse no regret and everyone hurts


Society looks for answers while poverty advances and more kids take chances stuck in trances,

Dreams

of who they'll never be, never set free, never just me being me, being who I could be

“Too many guns!”
“Too many guns!”
(Where are the Dads, where are the Moms?)
“Ban the guns!”
“Ban the guns!”
(Where are the Dads, where a the Moms?)