Every Second Counts Fire And Brimstone
Could it be the cynicism is a sign of something more? A deeper issue rotten to the core? What's the problem? What's the problem? What the f..ck is wrong with us? What's the problem? What's the problem? How did things get so f..cked up? A lack of direction, a draught of ideas has let the killers through the door. Once inside they absorb our anger and sell it back for dollars more. And when there's nothing they'll pass us by; find someone new and bleed them dry. Bought and sold, thrown out in the cold; they leave us here to die. No, I won't buy into the numbers game. I will never be a slave. No, I will never be a slave. f..ck the numbers game; I will never be a slave. No one wants to be the first to admit that they were wrong. Now it's just another place to end up. The same old f..cking tired song. No one wants to hear things that confront the way we think. Too much invested, too unreceptive, too weak to speak their minds. Is it too late to change? Or is it time to estrange? I say bring it and make my ears bleed. Fire and brimstone…that's what we need. Let it rain from the heavens, wash everything clean. Fire and brimstone...that's what this scene really needs
