Žodžiai dainai: Hot Water Music. A Flight And A Crash. Sons And Daughters.

Now unfortunate that it has come to this,
where we all pay to die as rogues, as workers,
nomads and searchers, sweat to shackles and leads to lies.
Still we're all under lock and key, who are we hot savages hooked an accessories,
numb and dumb to what else we could do of be.
Repercussion is at a lull, slow me down, let me come around to these starving in the streets,
some are mothers, some are fathers, all are sons, all are daughters,
left all alone and seen as disease.
Still we pass and we watch them bleed,
will not wash away with rain, a person's blood is heavier than who's the disease?