Chaos Paroles

confusions becoming law

frontiers are see through
clear thinking is mud
in the techno weed bed
savage roses bud
our culture is in shambles
our sanity's in hock
answers are running amok

like beggars in the market
pretending to be blind
in following the string home
all order will unwind

we beat our wings
but we're not flying
we are falling, falling
can't hear sense because we're deafened
by disorder calling death will bring rest to us all

final curtain is torn up
see the play start again
but let's have no grey script
for the joy of grey men
there must be some brand new ark
to torpedo with our votes
replace it with ballot paper boats

all differences are washed out
ideologies will blend
our pockets may be brimming
but it's cash that we can't spend

we beat our wings . . .

nature's had enough now
and she'll hit us where it hurts
we have to stand and walk straight
no more riding on her skirt

we beat our wings ...