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Papa n'était plus là

de Cave In

Tradition is calling its business.
Feeling only real when employed,
dense from sucking on wallets.
It's their pockets you're arresting.
Money is made the maximum...quality, only minimum.
An open chest shows a heart with a branded dollar $ign.
Shut off, shut off.
Wastes my breath opposing, for authority is all that makes this right.
But you're weak in my eyes and this is no price we'll fucking pay.
Your compromise has again capsized in time.
Shutting off income of yours.
There are no masks for your greed.
There is no heart in your conned cash flow to which we take no part.

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