A Plateful Of Our Dead

Don't ever ask us to define our morals Sometimes when fundamentals meet teenage heartbreak Some of us are all of us half-selves that love whole hopes And hara-kiri heartbreak There's almost nothing worse than never being real Strained voices crying wolf when nobody can hear If I had a gun, l'd pump your ethics full of lead If I believed in meat, l'd eat a plateful of our dead There's merit in destruction when it's done with your own hands There's beauty in construction, resurrection, another chance There's a you and I in union but just an I in our beliefs There's a crashing plane with a banner that reads everyone's native The only proof that I have that we shot and killed this horse Is the sounds of whips on flesh and a bleeding heart remorse The only proof that I have that we shot and killed this horse And a bleeding heart When l'm in this state of reflection and you hand me whips And two by fours, I could never bring them down, bring them down Bring them down and beat the same horse as before Bring them down, as before I'd rather kill a stupid flower and spread its seeds Until a garden with our bullet laden morals will be found I'd rather kill a stupid flower and spread its seeds Until a garden with our bullet laden morals will be found, will be found