Album Name : Skin Deep
Release Date : 2012-08-28
Song Duration : 4:15
Sole & The Skyrider Band The Shipwreckers
Oh human kind, ye shaped of chimpanzees and rumors of
rumors
And days of fast talkin' artillery make this modern;
full of death and petroleum
You've got blood and diamonds dripping from your linens
saying "peace is expensive"
I'll take a raincheck or two-thousand years later,
rolled up into putty
And eight year olds are choking to death, swallowed by
buses
So stoned and never make it to the podium
Pretend to care and get called out for not sending
tanks to Shanghai yet
It's too much work, we can't stomach the future with
out the thought of cheap labor
Middlemen of middlemen lining up to take cuts of what
they could never create with their own hands
Swollen glands, pretending as gods, the lesser the
evil, more likely to vanish
As common is more likely to make you classic than ugly
Living is easy with so many lousy architects
It's been a cold day in hell, it's been a cold day in
heaven
And all between wreaks of prefab teen-spirit, sucked
through the coolest scenes
Places we've never been are vexing at us
Don't need no Cuba, the only Guantanamo I know is on
the radio
Hearing about you is like ripping off my fingernails
with battery acid and calling it a touch up
Welcome to the ocean, let the champaign fill your lungs
The shipwrecker's name is only remember by the sea
Welcome to the ocean, let the champaign fill your lungs
The shipwrecker's name in the ocean it is writ
And this campaign was paid for by the sons of Genghis
Khan
You expect me to stop reading, just because writers
stopped reading the signs on the walls
Before the building falls, I told you, so I say before
their words can do me anymore harm
Don't want you to pray for me (this ain't no
revolution)
They'll be no photos of no fake Ches holding AKs for me
I'll make no calm calculation, only to promise struggle
is eternal
Since the Cold War ended, we still behind the Wall
Street Journal
The meek shall inherit the outskirts and make a choice
Isn't a life a currency enough? So why we huddle
emotionally spent?
All is fair in Laissez-faire pyromania, smoke screens
surround every other thought
But I know which ideas belong to me, and those I credit
to modernity
Make waste to a thousand former me's who knew,
everything under the sun is a joke
But the joke didn't let up, so lets just be fair
The world turns in squares, and all those on the
underside
Those on the underside get crushed mercilessly