Bullet in your head

This time the bullet cold rocked ya
A yellow ribbon instead of a swastika
Nothin' proper about ya propaganda
Fools follow rules when the set commands ya

Said it was blue
When ya blood was read
That's how ya got a bullet blasted through ya head

Blasted through ya head
Blasted through ya head

I give a shout out to the living dead
Who stood and watched as the feds cold centralized
So serene on the screen
You were mesmerised
Cellular phones soundin' a death tone
Corporations cold
Turn ya to stone before ya realise
They load the clip in omnicolour
Said they pack the 9, they fire it at prime time
Sleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz
And mutha fuckas lost their minds

Just victims of the in-house drive-by
They say jump, you say how high
Just victims of the in-house drive-by
They say jump, you say how high

Run it!

Just victims of the in-house drive-by
They say jump, you say how high
Just victims of the in-house drive-by
They say jump, you say how high

Checka, checka, check it out
They load the clip in omnicolour
Said they pack the 9, they fire it at prime time
Sleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz
And mutha fuckas lost their minds

No escape from the mass mind rape
Play it again jack and then rewind the tape
And then play it again and again and again
Until ya mind is locked in
Believin' all the lies that they're tellin' ya
Buyin' all the products that they're sellin' ya
They say jump and ya say how high
Ya brain-dead
Ya gotta fuckin' bullet in ya head

Just victims of the in-house drive-by
They say jump, you say how high
Just victims of the in-house drive-by
They say jump, you say how high


Ya standin' in line
Believin' the lies
Ya bowin' down to the flag
Ya gotta bullet in ya head

Ya standin' in line
Believin' the lies
Ya bowin' down to the flag
Ya gotta bullet in ya head

A bullet in ya head!
Ya gotta bullet in ya fuckin' head!

Zack de La Rocha (RAM)

.-.

Deitado na cama penso egoisticamente em mim próprio. Não tenho objectivos. Gostava de poder ser alguém musicalmente. De viver do que mais gosto. Gostava de poder cantar bem.

Mas não. Foda-se não. Não tenho algo em que me veja a ser verdadeiramente bom. Não terei prazer em estar comigo mesmo. Sou um pedaço de carne relutante em entrar em decomposição. Espero a luz porque não sei qual quero. Qual? Porque é que tenho tantas portas abertas e aelas que quero mesmo fechadas?!!

[*******] i came for the winter
[*******] and im not yet gone
[*******] feel the time passing by
[*******] and you dont even seem to try
[*******] i should have been told
[*******] we are just automaticly-operated rats
[*******] trying not to go old
[*******] im going from this(/his) world

(Silêncio)

(Com uma arma apontada à nuca pergunta-lhe:
- Acreditas em Deus??
-Sim..
(soa um tiro...) Silêncio...

Silêncio do sangue a escorrer...

Silêncio de uma morte sem sentido



)