Turncoat Revolution - Hot Cross

Behold the youth, come down the pipe

All worked up, all spent up, all faces turned up

Overdone

I never met a traitor I didn’t like

Never criticized a turncoat written off in spite

Caught up on robbing Peter to pay Paul

Obsessively stabbing Achilles to kill it all

Jump on board and feel what I’ve confessed

The small bus is leaving and will never be blessed

Pissed up the same flagpole once too many times

Blood on my shoes makes light of death and we mock the crime

Behold the youth.

Sad again

Hair all fucked, with black eyes but untouched

Behold my own part.

Unaware of where we start

But you’ve given up on giving back, and frankly I miss your heart

But I could care less, I behold their resources

They get so far, and cause so much stress

Behold our turncoat revolution that’s doomed

Step one, a step undone

Behold our lifelong manifesto of failure assumed