Money In The Banana Stand Men
men, all they ever do is bleed,
and dream all day of lust drenched in brainless blood.
romanticized fanatics,
call me a bully and you'll have yours
they scream and cry,
utilize words like 'honor'
sprint 'round the city,
are they chasing or being chased?
and who could be chasing them,
the good old boys?
their running from the sincere voice
inside their mind
the one we've taught them to ignore...
we've taught them to hate
oh no,
we've taught them to bleed.
