Give me something to sing about.
Feel the power.
The first sign of a dreamer's doubt
Black wedding gowns drained of blood
Atomic bombs hidden in a raindrop's sound
No blacks allowed signs, prophets bow down
Babies born with their eyes turned inside out
Razorblades on a bathroom floor;
a crying mom banging on the door
Her fists violently hitting the drums to a guitars last accord
Bodies stroke their caskets
Hidden behind jokes and laughter
Freezing flames burst through a stripper's last tears
Sweet words whispered in a dead man's ear
Burning steel through cowards on fields and mountains
Feel the power.
Give me something to sing about.
Me? What? naw, I'm the kid closing curtains
Perfect? No, I'm a brew slamming guy with a purpose
http://www.thewrestlinggame.com/wg.asp?w=110101
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