Paroles: Hellacopters. By The Grace Of God. Down On Freestreet.

:
down on freestreet
buried six feet down
in a one horse -
carefully locked door town
where no one ever comes around
there ain't nothing there to be found
an eye for an eye pound for pound
blown up yet minimal
built up by criminal hands
to the republic - it's sick
for which it stands
there's a man on desolation row
reaping fruits that someone else has sown
and a prime time appearence on a television show
you know the sheep are ridden with disease
and i'm down on bending knees
the tumour's spreading oh so fast
the remedy will never last
the die's been cast and the deadline's past
there's a crying beholder
but no one told her why
just wrapped up in plastic
conveniently elastic lies
i got my radio on
it's playing that same old stupid song
over and over for much too long
i've got to turn that damn thing down...