Letra de Fixed Frequencies - Propagandhi
Letra de canci�n de Fixed Frequencies de Propagandhi lyrics
Here in the land that Abraham was promised to receive
We listen to you catechize from your pulpit overseas
You mourn the proof of our barbarity
Dry your eyes, O Pharisee, a settler's cant we both speak
And we both read from the same old played out scripts and hum familiar tunes
Fixed frequencies, stuck in locking grooves
We both profess noble intent
As we civilize human impediments
If your hands are clean, then noblesse oblige
That you wipe those "who me?" looks off of your faces and concede
Our designs are separated by
Nothing more than place and time
Different scenes, same crimes
Pray, let him without sin cast the first statues of
https://www.coveralia.com/letras/fixed-frequencies-propagandhi.php
Former rogues turned folk heroes
That your grandfathers hung
Don't lecture me about plundered soil
While you loaf upon your father's spoils
We want nothing more than what you already have
A comforting of exculpatory facts
The myth of an empty land and a conquest so complete
We can pull these tanks from our streets and
Hand the loose ends over to bureaucrats and become just like you
Lounging carefree in cafes, absolved from sin
And human grenades, entre nous
How did your desert bloom?
We listen to you catechize from your pulpit overseas
You mourn the proof of our barbarity
Dry your eyes, O Pharisee, a settler's cant we both speak
And we both read from the same old played out scripts and hum familiar tunes
Fixed frequencies, stuck in locking grooves
We both profess noble intent
As we civilize human impediments
If your hands are clean, then noblesse oblige
That you wipe those "who me?" looks off of your faces and concede
Our designs are separated by
Nothing more than place and time
Different scenes, same crimes
Pray, let him without sin cast the first statues of
https://www.coveralia.com/letras/fixed-frequencies-propagandhi.php
Former rogues turned folk heroes
That your grandfathers hung
Don't lecture me about plundered soil
While you loaf upon your father's spoils
We want nothing more than what you already have
A comforting of exculpatory facts
The myth of an empty land and a conquest so complete
We can pull these tanks from our streets and
Hand the loose ends over to bureaucrats and become just like you
Lounging carefree in cafes, absolved from sin
And human grenades, entre nous
How did your desert bloom?