Traduction: Le sort de banlieue. Suicide Panier.
Its cold inside my mind Winter has arrived All the trees are dead outside And all that I have with me Is this heaping plate of apathy To keep me warm
These are the days When all things fall away Mangled on the page Our lives have gone astray Passing by the hour Our senses are devoured By the things
Anthems crumble Resistance waning Eerie shrill silence White flags waving Grey flannel dissidents are always aware Burdens of loneliness are too hard
I touch this skin the feelings strange I don't know myself but you know my name I'd give all of my heart to feel something Sell all of myself just to
The blades of grass are crying foul To the roots in whom they doubt Can save them even now The grains of sand that sit and shake In the shadows of the
When I spit in your eyes don't take it the wrong way I'm just letting you know how I feel When I laugh in your face you'll be laughing there with me
Here we come Down the street Here we come down the street in our big shiney yellow machine Here we come down the street in our big shiney bristled machine