The Atrocity Exhibit

Economic Desire Is A Tough God To Beat

LYRIC

The dead pilots swing from the trees, the sky bleeds orange
This life is in turmoil, calling for a thousand cleansing fires

Self-cast immolation, burning off parasites
That flew too close to the sun
The day of purification nears
And those wax wings they already melt

No one left at the wheel, fatal sound of progress
Life disintegrated, and calling for a new way of life

Control of our fate is slipping from our hands

Crushed in the gears of progress
This way of living is a ticking clock

The dead pilots swing from the trees, the sky bleeds orange
This life is in turmoil, calling for a thousand cleansing fires
Progress?
This way of life is nothing but a ticking clock

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