Born into a world where words are wasted. Actions never
speak at all. Quick is the cloak that's covered in smoke
to fill his pockets behind closed doors. Feasting on the
prayers of those who hope for a better tomorrow. Reality
check is now in effect, so wake up and smell the sorrow.
New York Wasteland, our secrets die with you. And we aint
goin nowhere, well sink where we stand. It's not hard to
believe, this world is not the place for me. I find it
hard to vent, when everyone around me seems content. Fuck
all you mothers of misery, beatin on your kids cause
there's nobody else to blame, and the gun-toting teen,
who took away the dreams of people just like him. Mad
world, I wont miss you on the day I fucking die. Sad
world, stronghold on the less than powerful. Man of the
cloth, you'll burn in Hell long before all of us. Man of
the cloth, you'll burn in Hell long before all of us.
