duvidei

quem descobrir o autor dessa bela letra, ganha meu respeito...

With a sense of irony everyone you see is chasing their illusions
Take a dive or sink or swim, but in the end you’re in the same pollution
In your world escape is swift, the nonsense list is all you need to know
In the land of dreams, you make the right connections, then you’ll be the hero
Ecstasy, the cult of me provides our institutions
You can live forever with a grave that stands where people used to function
You can join the saviours of our culture, vultures circling overhead my sky
Like the sin of gluttony won’t set you free, but Betty Ford can help you try

You can get all the things you never needed
You can sell people crap and make them eat it

But where is our John Wayne
Where’s our sacred cowboy now?
Where are the indians on the hill?
There’s no indians left to kill

People die with oxygen and all their money can’t afford a breath
People starving everywhere and staring in the face of death
Prostitutes and politicians laying in their beds together
You can be the saviour of the poor making up the policies to open up the back door...